


blurbs and ficlets

by zhuzhubi



Series: mini requests [2]
Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Celebrity Crush, Crafts, Cuddling & Snuggling, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sensory Processing Disorder, Libraries, M/M, Pregnancy, Prison, Professor Spencer Reid, Spencer Reid as a dad, Surprise Party, Tattoos, a couple angst pieces in here too, meet cute, pottery, prison reid, stuffed animals
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-25
Updated: 2021-01-14
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:21:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 55
Words: 41,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26107864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zhuzhubi/pseuds/zhuzhubi
Summary: a collection of unconnected reid x reader shorts
Relationships: Spencer Reid/Original Character(s), Spencer Reid/Reader
Series: mini requests [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1901263
Comments: 17
Kudos: 232





	1. reader encounters a karen

**Author's Note:**

> these are all short requests from my tumblr, @zhuzhubii :)

You’re out browsing shops for trinkets with Spencer (the two of you both love things with funny patterns and silly figurines - wandering around and looking for quirky shops is a common, and favorite, date you two go on. And it often gives him a chance to ramble about whatever random subjects come up along the way, too, which you love) - one weekend, when it happens.

You’re walking through the shelves alone for a moment - Spencer got caught up reading a book he found, and you decided to keep browsing in the meantime - when you spot a rack full of patterned socks that you know Spencer would love. You just _have_ to pick out a pair or two to surprise him with. 

The only issue is that there’s a (probably) middle-age woman standing right in front of the rack in such a way that it’s _really hard_ for you to look too, and she doesn’t move _at all_ when you slowly slide up next to her. 

Talking to strangers makes you anxious, so you can’t just ask her to move over - _maybe this is a situation in which ‘excuse me’ would get the message across? But, oh god, what if she thinks I’m rude or mean or inconsiderate_ -

She clears her throat, but you’re too caught up in overanalyzing the situation to notice. You try to focus on the socks, _just focus on the socks and not the lady oh god why isn’t she moving over oh god_ , but you can feel yourself getting anxious -

She scoffs at you, so loud it’s impossible not to hear it. “Ugh, get out of my personal space!” she snips, “You can wait your turn! Ugh, young people these days are so rude!”

You want to melt into the floor. Tears are starting to bead in your eyes, but you can’t seem to make yourself move. The woman scoffs at you again, this time raising her voice when she says, “Well? Are you dumb! Move!”

You turn tail and hurry away, hoping desperately that you’ll find your way back to Spencer, but too anxious to plan out your route.

He must’ve heard the exchange, because he comes up in front of you, nearly running in his haste. “Are you okay?” he says, “I heard what that woman said, she was way out of line, none of that is true!”

All you can get out is a meek, “She yelled at me,” tucking your arms into your chest and staring down at the floor.

He tentatively stretches his arms toward you, relaxing a little when you sink into him, burying your face in his purple scarf. You feel his hand start to smooth over your back and the soft motion of his chest as he breathes. 

Once you’ve calmed down and start to untuck yourself from his embrace, he mutters, “that lady was such a douche-canoe,” and you can’t help but laugh - you’ve been teaching him more shall we say creative insults lately, and it seems like he’s really gotten the hang of it. 

“She really was,” you reply, ready to move on with trinket shopping - you’re not about to let one douche-canoe ruin your date. 


	2. reid likes to watch reader study

Spencer’s sitting across from you at the kitchen table, working on some case reports as you flip back and forth between textbooks, preparing for an upcoming exam - he really needs to get some work done, but watching you study is just _so distracting_. 

You tuck back a strand of hair that’s fallen in your face, pursing your lips and furrowing your brow as you jot down notes in the margins, and he practically melts across from you - _how is it legal for someone to be so perfect?_ he thinks, _she’s so beautiful when she’s studying, god!, I could just sit here and watch her all night_

He shakes his head to try and snap himself out of it, resettling himself in his chair and flipping through the case files to try to inspire himself to get some work done, but his eyes keep drifting back to you, to how you run your finger down the pages as you read and mouth the particularly confusing parts to yourself. 

You look up - just to clear your head from all the material swirling around for a second - and notice him sitting across from you, leaning his cheek into his palm and decidedly not getting any work done at all. He’s following you with his eyes, but he’s so spaced out he doesn’t notice you looking back at him and huffing out a chuckle - _ah this man,_ you think, _I love him but he’s such a doof, genius aside._

You wave your hand in front of his face and giggle when he snaps back into reality, his face lighting up with a blush when he realizes you’ve noticed him staring. 

“Quiz me on the material?” you say and he nods profusely, in response, his fluffy hair bouncing as he does it. 

You catch him admiring you a few more times - especially when you start rambling about whatever topic he’s currently quizzing you on (he’s not the only one who tends to ramble, and he loves that about you) - and he doesn’t end up finishing his case files, but hey, you had fun studying together, so what’s the harm?


	3. reid is a cuddle-bug

It’s Sunday afternoon and you’re reading on the couch. Spencer is too, though he’s getting through his books much quicker than you are (as he always does). He’s built up quite the stack when he finishes his current book and puts it down, leaning back on the sofa and tangling his hands together instead of reaching for another one.

You peer over at him covertly over your book, only half-reading at this point - you know what’s coming next and you smile to yourself. Right on que, he starts scooting _ever-so-slowly_ closer and closer - you imagine he thinks that if he moves slowly enough you won’t notice, and you play naive because it’s _so cute_ when he does this.

Once he gets close enough, he pulls you into his lap and cradles you to his chest in one sudden motion - he’s picked up an obsession with holding you, and you don’t find that you mind at all. He kisses the crown of your hair and hums, the sound rumbling deep in his chest.

“I was reading!” you say with a laugh, squirming a little and giggling when he tickles your sides in response.

“I never said you had to stop reading, sugar,” he replies, with a light smirk.

It makes your face light up with a blush. You turn around in his lap and go back to your book, trying to continue reading, but Spencer’s decided to rest his chin on your shoulder and it’s distracting.

You lean back into his chest and kiss him on the cheek, and now it’s his turn to blush. “I love you, tiny,” he says as he wraps his arms around your waist, brushing his face against yours as his lips tug upwards into a smile. You grin and relax into him - _yes, he’s definitely a cuddle-bug_ , you think, _and I completely love that about him._


	4. post prison reid asks reader out with confidence

You’ve never been one to initiate conversations, you know that about yourself, and today is no different. You’re really starting to wish you weren’t so shy, though, because there’s this really attractive guy who’s just walked into the bookstore while you’re casually perusing the shelves. He’s a little overdressed in his tie and cardigan, some might say, but it suits him - he’s paired it with Converse and fluffy hair, and he’s a bit stubble-y in the perfect way.

You’ve just resigned yourself to admiring him from afar, when he appears right next to you. He gestures toward the book you’ve just pulled from the shelves - the cult classic The Hitchhiker’s Guide - and says, “You like Douglas Adams?”

You blush and reply, “Y - yeah, you know ‘Don’t Panic,’ and all that…,” mentally berating yourself, ugh you couldn’t have come up with something better to say!? The hot guy just came over to talk to you and that’s the best you’ve got!?

But he just huffs out a laugh and says, “Yeah, it’s so simple but it’s really great advice. I’m Spencer, by the way, it’s nice to meet you!”

“Oh! I’m (y/n),” you reply. He waves at you instead of extending a hand, so you return the gesture, giving a little wave and smile in his direction. 

“You’ve read it before?” he asks, tucking his hands into his pants pockets.

“I have,” you nod, “I just like to come in here when I have free time. Sometimes I find a new book I end up buying, but mostly I just like looking.”

His lips tug upwards into a gentle smile and he says, “Yeah me too. There’s just something about new books - all my friends have transitioned to e-readers, but it’s just not the same.”

You definitely agree, and you tell him as much, “Oh yeah, one hundred percent. I try to read physical books as much as I can.”

He lets the conversation drop into silence for a moment before collecting himself and saying, “Listen, I know we’ve just met, and I promise I don’t normally do this, but do you wanna get a coffee sometime? Like, now? If you’re free?”

You can’t say you’re not surprised, but you’re definitely not opposed - and there’s a coffee shop just down the street, so there’s not a huge risk of going somewhere with a strange man (and besides, you don’t get the feeling this man has malicious intent - the kindness really shows through in his eyes)

You find yourself agreeing, “Yeah, sure! I’m free now, that sounds good.”


	5. the team meets reids girlfriend

The team’s having a weekend get together in the park, watching Jack and Henry run around with the other little kids - when Spencer spots you across the way. You spot him too, almost right away - he’s tall and definitely stands out when he’s showing magic tricks to a huddle of kids.

You wave to him and start walking over without realizing he’s with his team - he’s mentioned introducing you a few times, but has always seemed nervous about it so it hasn’t happened yet. By the time you realize - because Penelope Garcia is _immediately recognizable_ , even if you’ve never seen her before - it’s very clear who you’re walking towards and far too late to _abort mission_.

He looks both happy to see you, and like a deer in the headlights - a light blush painting his face contrasting the way his eyes are open wide and his jaw tight. 

Once you reach him (and say under your breath to him, “I guess this ‘meet the team’ thing is happening now!” and he replies, “Mmhm,” his voice jumping up a few octaves) his teammates start making their way over, brows furrowing - _who is this woman Reid knows, but we do not?_

They raise their eyebrows when Spencer leans towards you instinctively before he realizes what he’s doing and blushes some more - it makes you chuckle, though you try to hide it to save him the embarrassment. 

“Who’s this?” one of them - Derek Morgan, you guess - asks, glancing in your direction.

Spencer just replies, “Uh…,” with all 187 of his IQ points, so you respond for him.

“Hi, I’m (y/n), it’s nice to meet you!” you say, pulling a _Spencer Reid_ and offering an awkward wave.

“And how do you know Spence?” the blonde woman - JJ, you’re pretty sure - asks, a smile pulling at her lips (she’s clearly already guessed, but wants to hear one of you say it - _ugh!_ )

“Um, well - this is my, um -,” Spencer stutters, unsure of what to say.

It’s answer enough for his friends, who all just smirk as Spencer reaches for your hand in his nervousness, again without realizing he’s doing it. 

_(In the end, it’s Henry who pulls it out of him:_

_“Uncle Spence!” he says as he comes running back over, “Your girlfriend is really pretty!”_

_Spencer sputters for a bit, before settling on, “She really is, isn’t she?” which pulls an_ aw, how cute! _out of everyone)_


	6. reader is australian

He first sees you at an academic seminar - you’ve recently moved to the states and are trying to get involved with the local academic community. You’re sitting in the front row as he gives a presentation on geographic analysis and its applications to criminal profiling. 

You weren’t intending to stay for his talk, actually, but the previous one (which you _were_ purposefully attending) ran long, and you noticed him awkwardly standing to the side of the stage waiting for his turn. 

He’s about as adorable as a grown man can be - his hair is fluffy and unkempt, and he’s dressed like a TA. You think it’s endearing, and find yourself wanting to know what his presentation is about (and discover you find the topic fascinating, once he starts talking)

He’s definitely nervous, and has a tendency to go off on rambling side-tangents before managing to refocus himself, but you’re getting more and more interested in what he has to say - and you nod and smile encouragingly on the few occasions that he glances in your direction. 

His talk runs long, too - you knew it would be the second he started on his first tangent - but you don’t mind at all. The whole reason you decided to attend this seminar in the first place was to meet the local academics, and you find yourself lingering afterwards to talk to him.

He notices you as he’s packing up his things and smiles, saying, “Hi! You were in the front row, right? I hope I didn’t ramble too much, I know I tend to do that and it’s annoying sometimes, but I just get so excited about the things I’m talking about, you know? And - “

You giggle, because he’s rambling about rambling and it’s adorable. He blushes when he realizes he was doing it and looks rather embarrassed, so you say, “I liked your side-tangents, they were all super interesting! And I’m (y/n), by the way, it’s nice to meet you!”

He blinks in surprise, and you realize it’s probably because of your accent - you still haven’t gotten used to people being surprised by it. 

A blush is spreading across his face, and what ends up coming out of his mouth is, “Did you know that the Australian Emu can run up to 30 miles per hour? Or, wait, you’re probably more familiar with kilometers…that’s about 48 kilometers per hour! And the father emus are the ones who sit on the eggs during incubation - they don’t leave the nest at all for two months! Isn’t that cool?”

You huff out a laugh because _wow, this man really has his facts down_ , and reply, “I did know that, actually, but thanks for reminding me!,” then ask, “I really liked your talk, would you be interested in telling me more about it sometime?” (which is uncharacteristically bold for you, but something about this ‘Dr. Reid’ makes you want to make exceptions)

He nods immediately and stutters out, “Y - yeah! Yeah, absolutely, I’d love to tell you more! I should be free this weekend, if you are?”

_(You are, and you meet up for coffee. He ends up rambling on about linguistics and regional dialects and phonetics - diving into an in depth analysis of the difference between the standard American accent and the standard Australian one. He keeps prompting you to speak, and you realize it’s because he wants to hear you talk - maybe it’d be annoying if it was anyone else, but he’s so genuine and adorably interested that you can’t help but to indulge him)_


	7. reader is a cuddle-bug

Spencer looks over at you over the rim of his book, the soft lamp light illuminating your sleeping face - he likes to read in bed before going to sleep, and it’s fairly common for you to drop off while he’s still reading (if he’s being completely honest, sometimes he keeps reading just to stay away even when he starts to get sleepy so that he can enjoy moments like this)

You shift a little and he decides it’s time to put his book away and lay with you - he does so, switching the lamp for a small nightlight and scooting down in bed, nestling himself in the shared covers. 

The movement rouses you ever so slightly, and you mumble in your sleep and reach out for him, aimlessly searching with your hands. Once your hands brush the warmth of his shoulder, you immediately tug him closer, wrapping an arm around him and tucking your face into his chest. 

Spencer just smiles - he was expecting this, you almost always do it - and reaches out to brush a hair out of your face, indulging in the way you subconsciously nustle your cheek into his hand, muttering incomprehensible nothings under your breath. 

He gives you a kiss on the forehead before relaxing into the pillow and trying to sleep, comforted by the way you scoot closer into his embrace and tighten your grip around his back. 

He never thought he’d be one to enjoy cuddling with his significant other - for a long time he thought he was touch-adverse, when it turns out he’s completely okay with the people he loves touching him (welcomes it, even) - but in this moment, there’s nothing he loves more.


	8. reader has sensory overload

You absolutely melt into your seat as soon as you get onto the plane - this past case has been absolute hell, and you’re trying and failing not to think about _dead kids_ and _not getting there in time_. You squeeze your eyes shut because it’s suddenly ten times too bright in the plane cabin, twisting your hands together in your lap to try to ground yourself. 

Someone sits down next to you and smooths a hand over your thigh and you jolt, relaxing only when you recognize the touch as Spencer’s (you know because the amount of pressure he applies is always _just right_ \- he understands sensory sensitivity as well as you do, and you’re grateful to have someone else on the team who just _gets it_ )

You flinch when the rest of the team boards the plane, chattering loudly about something or other - you’re too upset by the noise to focus on what they’re talking about. Spencer tenses beside you before relaxing his body for your sake. 

You want to claw at your ears but you don’t because _that’s not appropriate behavior, (y/n)_. Instead, you start bouncing your leg, a socially acceptable alternative to rocking. It’s not quite as satisfying, but it’s _good enough_ for now - it’s definitely better than staying still, so at least there’s that.

Someone raises their voice to talk over someone else, and you whimper, instinctively trying to lean away from the noise even though there’s really nowhere else to go - you’ll be able to hear them even if you try to hide out in the bathroom. 

Suddenly, Spencer’s rising to his feet and walking away. You’re upset, but then the noise abruptly stops and you can _finally_ focus on words - you hear snippets of what he’s absolutely _hissing_ at the team, “…be quiet! Can’t you guys tell that…noise is too much…sensory overload!…keep it down!…”

Then he’s back beside you, tugging you to his chest and keeping up that perfect amount of pressure - cupping his hands over your ears to protect against any more noises (although the team has apparently been stunned into silence - you’re really not thinking about them, though, you’re just grateful it’s quiet now)

The soft lull of his breathing soothes you now that the noise is gone, and you feel yourself finally un-tense, relaxing back into him and letting out a sigh of relief.


	9. reader is a potter

Pottery has always been your passion, and you’re so grateful for your ceramics store . It took you quite a while and many long, sleepless nights to get it up and running, but it’s become a successful business - you sell finished and commissioned pieces, offer DIY ceramics painting, and teach pottery classes for all skill levels - and you’re very proud of it.

There’s a man who’s been coming to your Thursday night class - _Spencer_ , he’s told you - who’s just _awful_ at pottery. Seriously, he’s been coming for a couple months now and you’re pretty sure he hasn’t improved _at all_.

That said, he’s a really nice guy - you thought he was a professor at first, but he’s mentioned being an FBI agent a few times so that’s obviously not the case (although he’s _also_ mentioned teaching seminars and giving lectures - just last week, he spent almost the whole class rambling about the newest topic he was excited to teach his students - so maybe he’s both?). You find yourself glad that he’s in the Thursday class - if he was in one of the weekend classes you wouldn’t have time to chat with him.

Anyway, it’s Thursday so he’s here right now, being _unbelievably awful_ at making pottery - seriously, his ‘bowl’ is probably the most lumpy and lopsided thing you’ve ever seen!

It’s the end of class, and he’s nowhere _near_ having made something that even resembles a bowl. He looks so dejected and disappointed with himself, and that just won’t do - _this man is way too sweet for me to let him walk out of here with_ that _lumpy thing!_

You help the other students pack up their things, then walk over to where he’s frantically trying to salvage his blob (and completely making it worse in the process). He glances up at you and takes his foot off the pedal, letting the wheel spin to a stop as he says, “I know, I know - class is over. I’m almost done, I promise! It’s just, well, I’m sure you can tell I’m not very good at this.”

You chuckle and say, “Here, let me help you,” moving behind him and taking his hands in your own, holding them in the correct position and instruction, “just like this, okay? Go ahead and step back down on the pedal.”

He does, letting you guide his hands over the clay, watching as a little bowl takes shape on the pottery wheel. When it’s done, you gently tug his hands away from the pot ( _no way am I going to let him mess it up now!_ ), but don’t move away - instead, you hover, practically hugging him from behind, as he turns his head to face you.

“You’re a great teacher,” he whispers, his face so close his breath ghosts across your cheek.

“You’re a great student,” you reply, just as soft, watching a blush spread across his face to match your own. 

“I’ve been hoping you would do this since the second week of class,” he admits, mumbling the words as he holds your gaze.

You smirk and tease, “Have you now, Dr. Reid?”

He nods in response, his hair tickling your neck, and lets the conversation lapse into silence, enjoying the warmth of your arms around him. He breaks it with, “We should meet up sometime? Outside of class, I mean,” with a sudden hesitance.

“I’d like that,” you reply with a smile.

…

_“I…actually already know how to make pottery. I was just pretending so that you would come help me,” he admits a few weeks later as he sits to the side and watches you at the wheel._

_“Oh really?” you’re skeptical - it’s hard to fake being that genuinely terrible. “Come show me,” you continue, reaching over to grab a new blob of clay and beckoning him forward._

_His hands fumble over the clay and nothing even close to resembling a bowl takes shape, “…um. I_ swear _I read tons of books on this, and I watched all of your instructions so closely! Hold on, I can do it…”_

 _It’s such a_ him _thing - to think that he could learn pottery from books and tutorials without actually practicing - that you just laugh, and laugh more as he sputters explanations._


	10. reid is a bamf

He thinks you must be the sweetest, most genuine person he’s ever met - you’re the type of person who always smiles at the cashier, no matter how bad your day was, and buys little presents for people _‘just because!’_

You’re in your last year of grad school with a focus on _Women in Modern American Literature_ , and all of your books are filled with colored post-its and notes in bubbly handwriting - it fills Spencer with joy to know you enjoy reading so much, even though your taste in material is pretty different from his own (he tends towards the classics, but you’ve begun to broaden his horizons - in the months you’ve been together, his shelves have gained quite a few more recent publications)

You’re at a coffee shop together when it happens - Spencer steps away to use the bathroom just after you’ve placed your orders, and you make your way over to the other side of the counter to wait for your coffee.

Some guy ends up standing _right next to you_. He’s definitely a little closer than you’re comfortable with, but the coffee shop is pretty busy so you decide to just deal with it. But then, he starts inching even closer, stepping so that you have no choice but to face him and saying, “Hey _sweetheart_ , what’s your name?”

Your skin crawls and you immediately try to scoot away from him, but realize he’s backed you into the corner and there really isn’t anywhere to go. “Um…,” you nervously reply, unwilling to give your name to this strange man, but also unsure how to get him to leave you alone.

“Come on sweetheart, a pretty girl like you deserves a nice guy like me to take care of her,” he says in his slimy voice, reaching a hand to stroke your cheek, not caring that you flinch away. 

Suddenly, you hear a sharp, “ _Oof!_ ,” and the creep’s hand is gone - once you take stock of the situation, you realize Spencer has appeared by your side, forcing his way past the creep and shoving him aside a little.

“Hey!” the man exclaims, irritation tightening his brow, “What gives, man - you pushed me!”

Spencer is less broad than the creep, but he’s significantly taller and the man shrinks under his scornful gaze (the same one he uses on the particular depraved unsubs - _this guy really messed up!_ ). 

“I bumped into you, that’s all,” he says with a calm that’s more chilling than overt anger could ever be, “Now, you’re going to turn around and leave my girlfriend alone - don’t even glance in her direction again, _got it_?”

The man postures like he’s about to start a fight, his hackles bristling at being ordered around, “Who do you think you are, ordering me around? I could take a skinny guy like you, no problem - you can’t tell _me_ what to do!”

Spencer just brushes an arm against his side, flashing his concealed carry _accidentally-on-purpose_ and saying, “Go ahead, no one’s stopping you. I’l have to charge you with assaulting a federal agent, of course, but you’re free to do whatever you like.”

The creep recoils at the sight of the gun, raising his hands in a placating manner, slinking back as he relents, “Woah woah woah, okay man. I got the message - I’ll leave your girl alone, okay? I don’t want any problems.”

Spencer just glares at him until he leaves the shop entirely, not even picking up his coffee. Then, he turns back to you and melts back into his soft, gentle self, his brow furrowing with concern, “Are you okay? He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

You smile gratefully and lean in to kiss him on the cheek, letting him wrap his arms around you and pull you into his chest, “No, I’m okay. You took care of it, Mr. FBI-Agent - thank you.”

He just smirks and replies, “Just doing my job, love,” then playfully, after a pause, “and that’s _Dr._ FBI-Agent to you.”


	11. the team throws reader a surprise party

Birthdays have always been something you’ve celebrated on your own. Your parents had a tendency to forget about things like that - you really don’t talk to them anymore, to be completely honest - and you don’t have anyone else you feel close enough with to celebrate with. 

You’ve only been with the team for a year, and you haven’t told them today is your birthday so really you can’t be too upset that no one has mentioned it, but still - you try to ignore it, but there’s a part of you that wishes someone would just wish you a _happy birthday!_ , if nothing else.

You’ve done your usual thing and made dinner reservations, just for you to have a special meal by yourself - and it’s not that you think there’s anything wrong with that, per se , but you just wish that _for once_ you’d have someone to come with you.

JJ comes rushing through the bullpen just before the end of the workday - right when you were beginning to feel comfortable that a case wouldn’t interrupt your plans - says, “Conference room in 15,” as she passes by. You sigh and heave yourself to your feet, sneaking a cigarette out of your bag and heading outside to cancel your reservations during the interim - you don’t smoke often anymore, but it’s your birthday and your plans just got ruined, so.

By the time you drag yourself back inside, the rest of the team is already in the conference room, the blinds pulled shut. You rub your eyes wearily, not looking forward to dealing with a new case, and push the door open -

“Happy birthday!” everyone exclaims and you startle - you weren’t expecting that at all! The room is covered in streamers and confetti, and the team are all wearing little party hats and grinning - even Hotch!

You’re so shocked you have no idea what to say - no one has ever done anything remotely close to this for you before - so you just stand in the doorway and blink awkwardly, a blush rising up your cheeks and a smile pulling at your lips.

“H - how did you…?” you stutter, glancing around at the cheerful faces of your teammates and - _ohmygod, are those presents for me?_

Garcia tuts her lips and says, “(y/n), did you really think we would forget your birthday? I’ve been planning this for months! Look, I made this cake - well, I _bought_ this cake for you, and here! The team made this card for you, and _ooooh_ I’m so excited for you to open your presents!”

Tears of joy start to bead in your eyes and you pull her into a tight hug.

_“Thank you so much, everyone. I love it.”_


	12. reid and reader get infected with anthrax

You’re running up to Dr. Nichols house as soon as you notice Spencer’s not beside you - he must’ve kept walking while you were on the phone with Prentiss, and you’ve got a bad feeling about this.

He rushes to close the sliding door as soon as he sees you, frantically yelling, “(y/n), get back - get out of here, (y/n) believe me just get back!” but you manage to push past him before he manages to lock it shut. He freezes and stares at you in horror once you make it inside, his breath hitching as tears bead in his eyes. You wonder why for a second, before he glances behind you and you instinctively follow his line of sight, and then you _know._

Dr. Nichols is dead and there’s a fan blowing. More importantly, there’s a broken vial of white power on the floor. It’s been less than thirty seconds since you were infected, but you can feel your chest tightening already - it’s not real, not yet at least, but it makes dread settle in your stomach as you look back at Spencer. 

“No…,” he whispers and you’re afraid too, damnit, but you _cannot_ fall apart right now and neither can he. 

You close your hands around his cheeks and say with false confidence, “I’m gonna call Hotch, you get started on figuring out who killed Nichols - everything’s gonna be fine.”

“(y/n) - “ he starts, but you cut him off.

“No, you can’t think like that right now - get started on the profile, everything’s gonna be fine.”

He nods curtly and closes his eyes for a moment, pressing his forehead to yours. When he opens them again, the fear has taken a backseat - it’s still there, but more present is his determination. You and him have both gotten out of too many tight binds already for this to be what takes you down - you’re a team, and you can do this.

…

You manage to focus your attention completely on the case until Spencer starts failing to stifle his coughs. There’s a tickle in your throat for sure, but it’s not present enough that you can’t still ignore it for the most part - he’s getting sicker faster than you are and suddenly a terrifying thought crosses your mind.

_What if I make it out of this, but he doesn’t?_

You’d been thinking in all or nothings before - either we both make it, or we both die. It’s worse thinking about still being here without him.

He sneaks to the side for a second to record a message for his mom, just in case _the worst_ happens, and it scares you because you know he’s been calculating the odds of getting out of this, measuring how fast the infection is progressing versus how long it’ll take to find the cure (and you hope desperately that there _is_ a cure). He’s leaving a message for his mom, which means the odds he’s calculated don’t fall in his favor.

It distracts you from the profile for a second before you steel yourself - the best chance you have of getting him (and yourself) out of this is finding the guy who did it. There’s no time for worry right now.

…

It’s when they’re scrubbing you both down - suspect identified and cure (hopefully) found - that you learn why he’s so much sicker than you are already. He cut his hand. It went straight to his bloodstream. 

You can still sit up by the time they get you into the ambulance, but he can’t. You’re coughing, yes, and it’s extremely painful, yes. But he’s absolutely gasping for breath, not even trying to hide the fear anymore. He locks eyes with you and tries to say something, but all that comes out is gibberish - it strikes a new rush of panic through your body because you know that means the infection has reached his brain. That he’s running out of time. 

If this is the end you don’t want him to be afraid. So you tell him, “Spencer, I love you too. It’s okay, I’m okay. I’m gonna be just fine and so are you, just relax for me,” choking down harsh coughs to make yourself seem less sick. 

They give you an oxygen mask when you just can’t catch your breath, but he’s barely breathing at all. You watch as they shove a tube down his throat and squeeze a bag in consistent motions, pumping air into his lungs for him when he can’t do it on his own anymore. 

You want to hold his hand or kiss his forehead or _something_ , but then you’re arriving at the hospital and they’re rushing him off. And you’re coughing up blood now too, your oxygen levels getting worryingly low. 

And then you close your eyes and there’s no fear anymore.


	13. reader loves animals

If there’s one thing that’s obvious about you, it’s that you absolutely love animals - birds in particular. You’re constantly showing your friends cute bird videos on your phone (even when they start to get a little annoyed with you, you just can’t help yourself - they’re just too cute!)

The only one who doesn’t mind in the slightest is your boyfriend Spencer - over the past few months of dating him he’s built up an impressive collection of animal encyclopedias at his own apartment, and has bought numerous animal-themed trinkets for yours. It feels like practically every other week he’s pulling a new gift out of his satchel - _Look, I found this cool owl notebook I thought you’d like!_ and _I found these farm animal themed pens when I was at the bookstore the other day, aren’t they cool?_

Unfortunately, your building doesn’t allow pets, so you can’t adopt a furry (or feathery) friend of your own - it’s a persistent source of sadness in your life, but there’s not much you can do about it for the time being.

…

Spencer’s asked you out on a date - by phone because he doesn’t like texting - and as soon as he arrives to pick you up you can tell he’s very excited about whatever he has planned. He can’t stop smiling and is practically vibrating with enthusiastic energy - he refuses to tell you where he’s taking you, but you already know you’re going to love it (as if you could dislike anything he came up with)

He makes you close your eyes once you get off the metro and leads you into wherever you’re going, eventually coming to a stop and moving behind you to grasp your shoulders, saying, “Open your eyes, open your eyes!”

You do, immediately jumping with joy when you see where you are - he’s brought you to a bird sanctuary!

You head over to the aviary, hearing Spencer chuckle at your response as he follows behind. All the birds are free to fly around in a huge open area and it makes you so happy (even if it upsets you that places like this have to exist in the first place)

As soon as you start gushing over the birds, Spencer starts reciting facts - the Hyacinth Macaw is the largest species of parrot, growing up to one meter in length! Ooh, and do you know that parrots have zygodactyl feet, which means they have two toes pointing forward and two pointing backward! This allows them to grasp food items with their feet…”

You think he might be even more excited about the birds than you are, and that’s saying something. He rambles almost non-stop the entire time you’re there, and you wouldn’t change it for the world - the date is the perfect combination of two of your favorite things: birds and Dr. Spencer Reid.


	14. reid has tattoos

You’re curled up on the couch with Spencer, peeking over his shoulder as he reads (purposefully slowing down so that you have a chance to finish), when he suddenly stops and sucks in a breath. 

You look at him curiously, knowing he’s about to say something - he’s been spacing out all night contemplating something, and you’re pretty sure he’s finally made up his mind about it. What he finally ends up saying is, “Do you think Hotch will approve of my new tattoo?” which is not at all what you were expecting him to say - he’s been thinking about it so hard, you honestly thought it was going to be something more serious.

“Um…,” you reply, unsure of what he’s really asking, “I guess so? I don’t think it really matters what he thinks, all that matter is that - “

He cuts you off, shaking his head a little, “All that matters is that I like it, I know. I was kinda more asking like…what do you think the team will think if I show them, I dunno, that I’m…”

He trails off, so you finish the thought for him with a sly grin, “kind of a total badass?”

He rolls his eyes in exasperation and you both giggle. Then, he looks at you and you know he’s serious this time, “No, I’m mean like…how do you think they’d react if they knew I’m not just some…nerdy genius who spends all his free time reading scientific journals and watching Star Trek?”

You smile - _ah, so that’s what this is about_ \- and thumb over the greyscale tattoo of a tree with falling leaves inked on his left bicep, “Well, you are a little bit of a nerdy genius, and we spent a whole day watching Star Trek just last week - but I know what you mean.”

You lean in to hold him by the cheeks so you can make sure he’s listening, “Spencer, the team loves you no matter what - they’ll be a little surprised at first, but that’s all. If you wanna show off your ink to them, I’d say go for it and if you don’t, that’s okay too. I’ll support whatever decision you make.”

He leans his forehead against yours and says, “god, you’re the best. I love you so much.”

And so plans are made - the next time the team decides to go out, Spencer (and you, but that’s nothing out of the ordinary) will arrive in his normal ‘going out’ outfit - skinny jeans and a short sleeved t-shirt, cartilage piercings in place and bicep tattoo on show.

… 

You smirk when Emily looks around the bar, knowing exactly who she’s searching for and why he’s not here just yet. She confirms your suspicions when she asks you, “Hey (y/n), where’s Reid?”

You cheekily reply, “Oh, I’m sure he’s just running late,” to which she furrows her brow and says, “Reid? He’s never late!”

Just then, you spot him over her shoulder, looking a little nervous about the rest of the team seeing him, but overall comfortable in his outfit (as he usually is). Emily follows your line of sight and is confused at first, her eyes glancing over Spencer because he’s dressed so differently than she’s expecting. She sees him on her second pass and her eyebrows automatically rise in surprise, but she definitely doesn’t look like she disapproves or anything like that.

Spencer un-tenses a little once he sees that Emily isn’t disapproving. In fact, once Spencer gets close enough, all she says is, “Hey Reid, I was starting to wonder where you were,” before bringing him into the conversation. You find his hand under the table and give it a squeeze to reassure him, knowing he’s undoubtedly still nervous about the rest of the team.

The rest of the team comes back from buying drinks and see Spencer from behind at first and you can tell they don’t recognize him. Garcia asks, “Who’s this?” and Spencer turns around at the sound of her voice, startling the team at the revelation that it’s him. 

“Hey guys,” he says, a tiny nervous lilt invading his voice. 

Morgan comes to his senses first, placing his drink down on the table before reaching over to clap Spencer on the back, exclaiming, “Pretty boy, lookin’ good!”

The rest of the team breaks out of their stupor and that’s that - he’s absolutely beaming at the acceptance and you smile to yourself because you knew this is how it would go. They love him too much for anything else to have happened.


	15. reids pregnant wife likes disney

Spencer’s absolutely overjoyed when you tell him you’re pregnant - you’ve been married for just over two years now, and you’re definitely ready (or, as ready as you can be) to have a baby. He frets and hovers just as much as you knew he would: 

When the ‘morning’ sickness hits, he comes home from work with a huge array of ginger-themed products (ginger has been shown to be an effective natural anti-nausea agent. In fact, some studies have found it to be more effective than some anti-nausea medications…) When you complain about your pants not fitting anymore, he kneels down and kisses your bump, the love in his eyes so intense that you can’t help but feel better. 

Even before you’re big enough that it throws you off balance, he’s rushing over to give you a hand when you stand up from…well, anywhere really. And maybe it’s a tiny bit annoying sometimes, but he’s so genuinely concerned that you can’t help but find it endearing. 

The bigger your bump gets, the more enthralled with it he is - he’s constantly reaching over to rub his hands over your belly and chase little thumps of movement. You’d be angry if anyone else just reached over to touch you without asking first, but Spencer’s your husband and you really don’t mind at all. He wants to feel close to your baby too, and you have no problem with indulging him (actually, you quite enjoy it).

You’re a huge Disney fan, and you’ve decided that if this kid is going to emerge from the womb already having heard the complete works of Geoffrey Chaucer (to exactly no one’s surprise, Spencer loves reading to the baby and wants to do it as much as he possibly can, especially once you hit 17 weeks and the baby can hear noises from outside. He’s even made some recordings of himself reading for when he’s away on cases, and given you careful instructions as to how to play them - you’re much more technologically apt then he is and already know how to do it, but his pride doesn’t need to know that), they’re going to have heard the entire Disney discography too, damnit! 

And, hey, if your kid’s gonna be listening to Disney music, _you_ might as well be too - you could just put the pregnancy headphones on and go about your day as normal, but where’s the fun in that? 

So you’ve taken to blasting Disney music whenever you’re home - keeping it just quiet enough that it doesn’t bother the neighbors. And if you sing your little heart out right alongside Idina Menzel? Well, nobody needs to know.

Except Spencer, you guess, because he’s just walked in the door halfway through _Into the Unknown_ and you have no intention of stopping. And anyway, he seems to be enjoying your little concert immensely. He’s following your every movement with his eyes and smiling when you glide your hands over your now-prominent baby bump. 

Just then, _Love is an Open Door_ comes on the stereo and his face lights up - he loves this song just as much as you do. And he can’t sing like _at all_ , but he’s stretching out his arms for you, singing anyway, “ _‘Cause like, I’ve been searching my whole life to find my own place…_ ” in his adorably off-key voice. 

He sways you back and forth as you sing the duet together, giggling and rubbing his hand over your belly when he gets to ‘ _life can be so much more!_ ’

You’re so excited to see Spencer Reid as a dad.


	16. cherry by harry styles

Spencer didn’t want to break up, that was all your idea. It was for all the logical reasons - 

_We both want kids, Spencer, but neither of us is willing to leave the BAU. I love you so,_ so _much, but I just don’t see this working out long term_

_Can’t we just try? Please? I mean, if you love me as much as I love you -_

_Spencer…_

_Just…I - I don’t see why you aren’t willing to try anymore. We’re still young, there’s still time for kids in the future - maybe something will change in the interim…_

_Spencer, listen to me. I think that if we keep going with this, if we get to the point where kids are a serious conversation it’s gonna be_ me _who ends up leaving the job -_

_You don’t know that -_

_Oh_ come on _, just think about it for half a second! You’re_ Dr. Spencer Reid _\- you were specifically recruited for this job and they made all kinds of exceptions for you. They’re not gonna let you leave just so that_ I _can stay, that’s just the way it is and I know that. And I think you do too, you just don’t want to end this relationship._

 _No, no I don’t!_ Of course _I don’t want to end this relationship - I love you, (y/n), and I thought that was enough for you, but apparently it’s not and I -_

_Are you even listening to me!?_

_Am I - are_ you _even listening to_ me _, (y/n)?_

_You know what, I can’t do this right now, I’m leaving._

_You’re leaving - you_ live here _! Where the_ fuck _are you gonna go, huh?_

 _I’m taking my go bag and driving to Emily’s. Don’t even_ think _about showing up at her apartment, I am_ done _talking to you right now_

\- but love isn’t logical. You’ve been avoiding him, and Spencer’s tired of it. Tired of falling asleep wearing the cardigans you left behind because it’s as close as he can get to falling asleep with you. Tired of hearing -

_Hey babe! No, I’m not busy tonight…yeah, that sounds great, see you then!_

\- when it isn’t directed at him. And maybe he’s reading too much into things - maybe it’s wishful thinking, or projecting, or _whatever_ \- but he’s pretty sure that you don’t look at _him_ the same way. That your eyes don’t light up the same way when _he_ takes you out on dates as they did when you were out with Spencer. 

He catches you by the coffee machine one day and just can’t hold it in anymore -

_You don’t love him_

\- and your lack of response and averted eyes tell him everything he needs to know -

_You don’t love him, and you’re only hurting yourself - hurting me - by trying to force yourself to move on -_

_You’re right_

_Huh?_

_You heard me, Spencer -_ you’re right _, is that what you wanted to hear? That I made a huge mistake when I stormed out of our -_ your _\- apartment and ended things? That I spend every day trying to convince myself that I can learn to love someone else? But I can’t. I can’t and I know it, and -_

 _It never stopped being_ our _apartment_

…

Your new boyfriend isn’t surprised when you tell him it’s over - it was painfully obvious you were still caught up on your ‘ex’ (who isn’t an ‘ex’ anymore)

You come home to _(y/n)andSpencer’s_ apartment and curl up on the couch with him, reveling in the familiar feeling of his long fingers tangling through your hair and the steady rise and fall of his chest against your back - you don’t know what will happen in the future, no one does. But you _do_ know that you want Spencer Reid beside you.

…

_“Love isn’t logical, or even our choice. Love chooses us. Sometimes things have to get worse before they get better.” ― Susane Colasanti, Something Like Fate_


	17. drunk reader hits on reid when theyre already together

The team’s hit the bar one night after a particularly rough week (thankfully just a frankly ridiculous amount of paperwork, and not a case that ended badly), just to wind down a little before the weekend. Spencer’s been hanging out with Rossi and JJ, chatting amiably while they sip on their drinks and he nurses a (non-alcoholic) Arnold-Palmer while you’re at the bar taking shots with Emily and Garcia, getting progressively drunker as the night goes on. 

He’s been keeping an eye out for you three, just making sure everything’s okay because he’s seen too many cases in which the victim is picked up from a bar (not that he thinks anyone on the team can’t watch out for themself. It’s just that he’s the only one who’s completely sober and he has a tendency to overanalyze and worry - you can never be too careful when alcohol is involved). Besides that, he likes to admire you when you’re having fun - your unfiltered laughter is one of his favorite things in the world.

Spencer realizes he must’ve spaced out for a second because the next thing he knows you’re ambling toward him, swaying a little in your drunkenness, as Emily and Garcia try to stifle laughter from the bar. He squints at them a little, trying to figure out what’s so funny, when you say, “Are you a parking ticket? Because you’ve got _fine_ written all over you,” poking a finger at his chest, cheeks flushed red from the alcohol. 

It’s so cheesy he can’t help but to snort out a laugh, closing his hands around your shoulder to steady you. You put on your best drunken sultry, enticing face and slur through another one, “I wish I was DNA Helicase so I could unzip your genes.”

Spencer just rolls his eyes and replies, “Ooookay, (y/n) - I think it’s about time to call it a night,” trying to direct you toward the exit.

You scrunch your brow in confusion and ask, “Wait, how did you know my name?” then realization floods your expression and Spencer thinks _maybe she’s snapped out of it_. But alas, what comes out of your mouth instead is, “Ooooh I bet I hit on you earlier too, I’m a little tipsy right now so I’m having trouble remembering, what was your name again?”

Spencer’s glad he kept an eye out because _oh my god she’s so completely wasted_ , but he has to admit - this is pretty funny, at least when he’s sober and can make sure you’re safe. He replies, “I’m Spencer, remember, your _boyfriend_? We’ve been together for almost two years?”

You’re completely awestruck, “You’re _my_ boyfriend? But you’re so…so attractive!”

He blushes and smiles a little embarrassed grin, finally managing to get you into the car, “Yep, I’m your boyfriend.”

“Wow,” is all you reply, falling in a drunken heap into the passenger’s seat and dozing off almost as soon as he starts the car - Spencer strongly dislikes driving, especially your car, but he has to admit it much easier driving you home rather than trying to get you onto the metro.

Once you arrive back at the apartment, Spencer practically carries you upstairs and tucks you into bed, leaving a glass of water on the bedside table to help with the inevitable hangover, then crawling into bed himself, grinning when you tuck yourself into his side in your sleep.


	18. reid + nail polish

You’re hanging out at your apartment with Spencer one lazy Sunday afternoon, not putting any particular effort into anything and just existing in the same space together. 

You glance down at your nails and notice the polish is chipped, so you resolve to give yourself a new paint job - you’re not doing anything except watching reruns of Grey’s Anatomy (and giggling when Spencer points out the medical inaccuracies), so you figure you might as well. 

You haul yourself off of the couch and into your bedroom, looking through your modest collection of nail polishes before selecting a pastel green shade you picked up on a whim a month or two ago and still haven’t tried yet. 

You gather your supplies and bring them back to the living room, re-situating yourself on the couch and getting ready for not being able to touch anything easily for a while. 

Spencer looks up at you over his book and you realize he hasn’t actually seen you paint your nails before - of course, he’s noticed the polish (his favorite is a matte lilac shade you started wearing more often after he mentioned that he likes it - he’s made an effort to match his tie to your nails a few times too, and you think it’s adorable), but he’s never watched the process that goes into achieving colored nails. 

He’s completely enraptured by it - you know because he’s completely stopped reading his book. He tends to like methodical, repetitive tasks, so you’re not surprised at all that he likes watching. What _does_ surprise you is him asking, “Can I try?” in a soft voice just as you’re finishing up.

At first, you think he means he wants to paint _your_ nails, but as soon as you notice him glancing between his own hands and the bottle of polish, you realize he wants to paint _his_. You’re careful not to let the surprise show on your face - you imagine he’s internally fighting _‘boys can’t paint their nails’_ or something like that, and surprise would only reinforce that narrative - and you reply, “Yeah, of course! Just wait a sec for mine to dry a little so I can help you,” with a grin.

His nervousness grows during the interim, and by the time you’re ready he’s fidgeting in his seat, rubbing his palms over his thighs in a consistent pattern. You want this to be a good experience for him, so you suggest, “If you’re not sure about the color, I have a clear polish you can try first?”

He nods immediately, un-tensing at the suggestion, “Y - yeah, that sounds good.”

And so Spencer Reid wears nail polish for the first time - just a clear coat that leaves his nails slightly glossier than normal, but still. He knows it’s there, and you know it’s there, and no one else has to know if he doesn’t want them to. 

He spends the rest of the afternoon glancing down at his hands and smiling every so often, and you know it won’t be long before he’s asking you to help him pick out a color.

…

The next weekend, after a very lovely museum date, he suggests returning to your apartment instead of his even though it’s further away. Practically as soon as you unlock the door, he’s speeding over to your bedroom and staring intently at your nail polish collection, furrowing his brow as he tries to pick out a color.

You wait patiently while he makes his decision, smiling a little to yourself when he gently pulls out the lilac polish he loves so much. You apply it just as carefully as the first time, glancing up every so often to admire the content expression on his face. 

He absolutely loves it, can’t seem to stop gushing about it to you, “(y/n), I just realized this color is the exact same shade as my favorite tie! I think I’ll wear it on Monday…Do you think Garcia will like my nails? She’s the only one who noticed the clear polish, so she’ll definitely notice this - I think she’ll like them, I really like them - do you like them?”

You grin and reply, “I love them, Spencer,” knowing this is just the start.


	19. reid + nail polish part 2

Penelope’s just gone into the break room to grab her lunch (homemade vegetarian pad thai - yum!) when something colorful catches her eye. Reid’s pouring himself (yet another) mug of coffee and his nails are painted a subtle purple-y color - it’s the perfect shade to match his favorite tie, which he is, of course, wearing. **  
**

She can’t believe she’s gone until lunch without noticing it - it took her less time to notice the even subtle-r clear coat he was wearing last week, and how can that be right? Although to be fair, it’s Monday and she’s always very busy on Mondays - she’s barely been out of her lair all morning, and so hasn’t had much of a chance to see Reid, much less notice his nail polish. Last Monday she’d picked up donuts before work, and of course she had to personally deliver them to all of her friends - chocolate frosted with rainbow sprinkles for Reid, as always - and as such noticed his nails as soon as he reached into the box.

Anyway, she’s been dying to know what color he’d pick out - in hindsight, of course he would pick lilac. The last time he invited his girlfriend, (y/n), to dinner with the team her nails were painted with that very same polish, and he just could not take his eyes off of them. He was completely enthralled with her hands all night (and, judging by the satisfied smirk on his face the next morning, that didn’t end until long after dinner…)

Penelope snaps back to reality when Reid says, “Hey Garcia, what’s up?” with a soft blush, and she realizes she’s been staring. He’s stuffing his hands into his pockets and, “No, no, no! I love them, boy genius - c’mon, lemme see lemme see!”

He tentatively pulls his hands back out of his pockets and extends them in her direction - palms down, obviously, so that she can see the polish. They look fantastic - the color perfectly compliments his outfit, which she’s sure he’s done on purpose.

“You and (y/n) should come over this weekend and we can all paint our nails together!,” Penelope gasps as the idea hits her and bounces a little in her excitement, “Ooooh, I just ordered a new set of glittery nail polishes late week and they’re supposed to arrive tomorrow - we can try those out if you want to! Of course, you don’t have to if you don’t want, maybe you two already have plans for this weekend or you don’t like glitter or - “

He interrupts her nervous ramble, “Garcia, that sounds great. I’ll have to ask (y/n), but I’m sure she’ll say yes - she loves you, practically couldn’t stop talking about you after the first time you two met.”

“Ohmygosh, that’s so sweet of her,” now it’s Penelope’s turn to blush a little, “you better marry that girl, mister, or else!”

He just huffs out a nervous laugh and raises his eyebrows, fidgeting in place as he refuses to meet her eye - 

“No. Way.” Penelope tense with barely contained excitement, ready to start jumping for joy as soon as -

Spencer stutters out, “Well, I haven’t, you know, actually planned anything out yet, but…”

She lunges forward and pulls him into a hug - if he wasn’t taller than her, she’d be picking him up and spinning him around - saying, “Ohmygosh you’re getting married! You gotta get (y/n) to let me help plan the wedding, oooooh I saw these adorable floral table-toppers while I was online shopping the other day, I’ll send you guys the link - “

“Garcia!” he interjects, “It’s supposed to be a surprise! And besides, I haven’t even bought a ring yet, I don’t even know if she’ll say y - “

“She will,” it’s Penelope’s turn to interrupt a nervous ramble, “That girl loves you just as much as you love her - and you’re completely smitten! There’s no way she’ll say no.”

Spencer takes a deep breath before his face bursts into a huge grin. One thing’s for certain - (y/n)’s nails (and Spencer’s, for that matter) will look great in the engagement photos.


	20. reader is an artist

You always imagined you’d fall in love with another creative like yourself - maybe a musician or a comedian or a dancer. But while you’ve found many people who you consider friends and enjoy working or collaborating with, and have even dated a few over the years, none have ever clicked with you in a romantic way. 

You thought you’d enjoy going to art galleries and indie concerts with someone like yourself, someone who always wanted to delve into the deeper meaning behind pieces of art instead of just enjoying them. You thought if you dated someone who didn’t really understand art in that way, you’d always be frustrated with their ‘shortcoming.’

As it turns out, that’s not true at all - you’re dating someone who is the epitome of an academic in every aspect other than his career. And even then, he was initially recruited to the FBI for his intellectual prowess - before meeting you, his idea of a good time was spending an entire day holed up in the library researching mushrooms, or arachnids, or the history of aerospace engineering. As a matter of fact, Spencer has all three of his PhDs in topics that quite frankly boggle your mind - you’re just not wired to understand that science-y, math-y stuff at all. 

You would never have even entertained the idea of dating him if you’d known about his job and his degrees at first - you met him while waiting for your coffee one morning and hit it off. And then when you bumped into him for the second time - at a completely different coffee shop, no less - you exchanged numbers and started arranging coffee dates instead of just hoping that you’d end up in the same place at the same time (and you’re not ashamed to admit that you _were_ hoping to run into him again after meeting him that first time)

You’re lucky he was on a literature kick at the time - his rambles were all about his favorite books and plays, not the science-y stuff you’ve since learned is more common for him to hold an interest in. If you’d known he was a scientist right off the bat, you’re sad to admit that you would have written him off as incompatible instead of giving him a chance.

You honestly thought he was a writer or an English professor at first, and when he let it slip that he’s actually an FBI agent with an engineering degree, you were shocked. Shocked that you were wrong, yes, but more so because you _liked him_. Liked him quite a bit, actually, in more than just a friendly way. 

So you decide to take a chance and ask him out - on a proper date date this time. You take him to a fine arts museum - you’re not about to get too attached only to be disappointed in that department - and he surprises you again. 

He talked about the different kinds of paint he notices, and that leads him to a discussion of the history of paints in fine art and how it can be used to date paintings and identify fakes. He talks about the historical significance of particular art pieces, and the eras of art, and how pop culture and animation and cartoonists have been influenced by more classical work. 

It’s a very different way of engaging with art than how you do, but you don’t find that it bothers you at all - he’s obviously interested in it, and that’s enough. More than enough, actually, because he’s so knowledgeable and can always find something to say about a piece - the more he talks, the more you like hearing what he has to say. 

It’s the best date you’ve ever been on - you never expected to be compatible with a scientist, but you are. Unbelievably so, actually.

…

You were out with Spencer and his team the other night, and when Penelope mentioned ‘Bob Ross’ and Spencer was completely and utterly confused. And that’s just _not acceptable_ \- you love him, but you _cannot_ date a man who doesn’t know about the painting god that is Bob Ross. 

So the very next weekend you grab a couple canvases and a set of acrylics, dig an extra easel out of storage, and set up your computer with a lovely Bob Ross tutorial. Then, you drag Spencer away from the coffee machine -

_Hey! I was drinking that!_

_It’s 10am on a Saturday, Spencer - this is your fifth cup of coffee!_

_…fair enough_

\- and get him set up to paint. Spencer follows Bob’s instructions like a scientist, squinting his eyes so that he can see exactly how Bob uses the brush, pausing and replaying the video to make sure he’s heard the instructions right. You paint like an artist, taking Bob’s painting as inspiration rather than trying to make an exact replica. 

In the end, Spencer’s painting is a little wonky, but you love it. You love it because he had a great time making it and you had a great time painting alongside him, watching him furrow his brow as he tried to copy Bob exactly and smiling to yourself. 

You’ve fallen in love with a scientist, and he’s the best thing that’s ever happened to you.


	21. reader is a librarian

There’s a man that comes into the library (almost) every Friday at the same time - you always work the last shift and he comes in about 2 hours before closing like clockwork. You’ve only ever talked to him when he comes up to the counter to check out his books - he reads such a wide variety and quantity of books that it amazes you, quite frankly - but he always smiles at you and says hello.

You know his name is Spencer Reid because it says so on his library card (and, likewise, he knows your name because it’s on your name-tag - he greeted you by name the fourth time you checked out his books for him, and it surprised you before you realized that it’s literally pinned to your shirt), but that’s about all. 

Or, maybe that’s not quite true. You know he really, _really_ likes reading, for one (and so do you, obviously - you’re a librarian). And that he prefers non-fiction - he checks out biographies and old issues of scientific journals, usually, though he’s definitely no stranger to classical literature. He’s also multi-lingual (or he can read multiple languages, at least - you’ve never actually heard him speak anything except for English, so you can’t attest to his verbal abilities)

You know that he’s polite, and that he’s good with kids - he’s come by with a little blonde boy a few times and is probably one of the most patient people you’ve ever observed. He reads to the little boy and helps him pick out children’s books, then leads him over to your desk and helps him check out ‘on his own.’

The boy’s name is _Henry_ , you’ve learned, and you have to admit - you were a little disappointed the first time you saw him because you thought he was Spencer’s son. But then the boy called him _Uncle Spence_ and you learned that he’s _actually_ Spencer’s nephew or godson or something like that (some families do the whole _calling close family friends ‘aunts’ and ‘uncles’_ thing, so you’re not totally sure)

Anyway, you’re pretty sure he’s single because he’s never brought anyone with him other than Henry, and he seems like the type of guy who would bring a significant other to the library at least every once in a while. So you resolve to ask him out the next time he comes by.

And then Friday arrives and with it comes Spencer, and you chicken out. He comes in, returns last week’s books, peruses the shelves for an hour or two, then comes up to the counter to check out his books. You scan them all through, the whole time trying to get yourself to just say something. 

But, alas, you don’t. You watch him neatly tuck all of his books into his leather satchel, and then smile and say _see you next week, (y/n)!_ before turning and walking out the door, presumably heading home for the night. 

Obviously, the _just ask him out_ plan is not going to work, so you come up with a better plan. Or, at least a plan that’s less dependent upon your (lack of) ability to force words out of your mouth. You write him a little note and tuck it into your personal copy of _Fahrenheit 451_ \- you’re pretty sure you can manage to slip it into his usual stack of books without him noticing right away.

You anxiously anticipate Friday’s arrival the entire week, constantly keeping an eye on the door just in case he breaks routine and comes a day or two early. And then when Friday finally arrives, the plan goes perfectly. You distract him with light conversation and slip the book in with the ones he’s actually picked out. He tucks it away into his satchel almost on auto-pilot, completely not noticing the extra.

You left your number on the note and when hours pass without a call, you’re a little disheartened - you’re sure he’s seen it, he seems like the type who would immediately unpack his things upon arriving home. You think to yourself _oh well, at least I tried_ and push him out of your mind, pretending you’re not sad over being subtly rejected by a man you’ve never even had a full-on conversation with.

…

You like the Saturday morning shift because lots of parents bring their kids to the library then, and you love watching them all head over to the kids’ section and pick out books and read with their parents. They do parent-and-me classes that are just adorable to watch. And that’s exactly what’s capturing your attention when Spencer Reid walks up to your desk on Saturday morning, decidedly outside of his normal routine. 

He says, “Hi?” in a tentative voice and it surprises you - you were so distracted by the kids that you hadn’t even noticed him approach. The first thing you notice is that he’s holding your copy of _Fahrenheit 451_ and you blush - obviously, he’s saw your note last night and didn’t call.

You decide to act natural, so you say, “Good morning, Spencer,” with a smile you hope isn’t too crooked with embarrassment. 

He turns bright red and starts stammering, “G-good morning! I, well, you - you put this book in with mine when I checked out yesterday? And I - um, I…at - at first I thought it was just a mistake, but then I noticed that this isn’t a library book? A-and so I opened it and there was a note inside? From you? 

“I…I guess I just wanted to tell you that, um…Well, I was too nervous to call you last night, but I didn’t want you to think I don’t like you because I _do_ , um, _like you_ , that is. Um…so I came here and I’m really glad you’re working right now because I always come at the same time, so I’m not actually sure what other times you’re here and - “

You smile at his adorable nervous ramble as he takes a deep breath to collect himself, a little relieved that this man is just as awkward and flustered as you tend to be.

“Would you maybe want to get coffee with me sometime?” he finally asks with a nervously hopeful look on his face.

“I’d love to,” you reply, giggling when he lets out a huge sigh of relief.

…

_I was actually thinking about doing the same thing, you know_

_What do you mean?_

_I was gonna write a note and slip it into one of the books when I returned it, but I wasn’t sure if you’re the one who sorts them or not and I didn’t want the wrong person to get it, so…yeah_


	22. reader sleeps with a plushie

You’ve always had a soft spot for stuffed animals - when you were little you brought one with you everywhere until your teachers started subtly (and not-so-subtly) implying that your parents needed to train you out of it. Even now that you’re an adult that love hasn’t faded in the slightest, it’s just become less socially acceptable and therefore more hidden.

And so, all of your plushies are stowed away. Most of them are, at least - you’d really rather keep all of them out on display all the time, but you have people over at your apartment pretty regularly and you’re afraid if you kept more than a few out at a time, they’d make fun of you. You know they’re your friends and probably wouldn’t, but still. You can’t shake the nagging fear of rejection.

Back in middle school, you had a ‘friend’ who came over to your house one time and saw your collection, and then promptly turned around and told the whole school who proceeded to make fun of you for it. And a few years ago you dated a guy who thought it was weird and ended up breaking up with you because of it. As such, you haven’t been able to kick the feeling that even _liking_ stuffed animals over a super young age is shameful somehow, much less sleeping with one like you often do.

So when you hit it off with Spencer Reid romantically, your immediate instinct is to make sure he never finds out about it. And when you see his apartment for the first time (filled with books and antiques and muted colors - all very _mature adult_ things), you’re even more sure you’ve made the right decision. Never mind that he’s probably the nicest man you’ve ever met. He’s so _sophisticated_ with his many degrees and high-stakes job - he just wouldn’t understand. 

But you miss the soft, plush fabric in between your arms when you sleep without one - you have to admit, your sleep quality has taken a big hit since deciding to pack all of your plushies away. 

So when Spencer texts you that _I’m sorry I won’t be able to come over later - a case just came in so I’ll be away for a few days_ you jump on the opportunity. Right before bed, you pull out your favorite - a once-fluffy rabbit with a blue silk bow tied around his neck - from where you’ve hidden him and nestle yourself under the covers with him tucked into your side.

…

Spencer walks out of the bullpen in a daze - it’s almost two in the morning and he’s just finished up his post-case paperwork and can _finally_ head home. He somehow manages to get himself onto the metro and rides it for a while before realizing he must’ve dozed off at some point because he’s missed his stop - it’s okay, though, because your apartment is still two stops away and he can just let himself in with the key you gave him a few months ago.

So that’s what he does - he manages to shake himself awake for long enough to make it to your door, then practically starts falling asleep where he stands once he makes it inside. He toes out of his shoes and tugs off his tie before tucking himself into bed next to you and wrapping his arms around you, falling asleep with his chest to your back and his face nestled in your hair.

…

When you first stir awake to Spencer wrapped around you, it doesn’t strike you as unusual due to your still-groggy state of mind. Then, once you allow yourself to enjoy the warmth of his body and the soft rise and fall of his chest for a minute, you realize that _wait, he’s not supposed to be here right now!_

You jerk away from him and grab your rabbit, trying to figure out where the _heck_ you’re going to hide it - but this backfires because the swift motion jolts Spencer awake, and suddenly he’s blinking open his eyes and looking _right at you_ , stuffed rabbit and all.

You immediately start sputtering half-baked excuses, you face flushing red with embarrassment, when Spencer interrupts you.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, his brow furrowed as if he’s _really, truly, actually_ not sure why you’re freaking out.

“M-my rabbit…,” you trail off, sure he must just be so tired he hasn’t noticed.

“Did something happen to him? Or her, I guess,” he replies, and _huh?_

“You don’t think it’s…weird? That I’m an adult who’s sleeping with a stuffed rabbit?”

“No? Why would I?” 

“I - “ you start before realizing _since when has Spencer Reid ever done anything but defy expectations_ and closing your mouth, scooting closer to Spencer instead and smiling when he pulls you back down into bed and envelops you in his arms once again.

“What’s his name?” he mutters into your neck, idly stroking his hand up and down your rabbit’s soft belly.

“Sampson,” you reply.

“Mmm,” he hums, already half-asleep again, “Nice to meet you Sampson. I love your friend (y/n), aren’t they just the best?”

You giggle and reply, “Sampson loves you too.”


	23. reid yells at reader

You can tell the case went badly as soon as he gets home - he’s tense and greets you only with a stilted, “hey,” barely even glancing in your direction. He tugs off his tie and plops down on the couch, running his hands through his hair and staring down at the coffee table. You decide to give him a moment alone before trying to talk to him, so you fix him a mug of tea while you wait. 

Once it’s ready, you tentatively sit down next to him, setting the mug down on the table and frowning when he tenses at your presence. You reach a hand towards him, but he flinches as soon as you brush your fingers against him, shying away and pressing himself into the opposite side of the couch. It makes you furrow your brow - he’s been working on letting you in when he’s stressed or upset instead of pushing you away, but whatever happened over the past few days seems to have completely reset his progress.

You resolve to try talking to him instead, speaking softly you breach the silence, “Do you wanna talk about it?”

“No,” he shoots back immediately, drawing his arms closer to his body as if to protect himself - as soon as he does it you know that he’s lying, that he needs to talk it out but doesn’t want to ‘burden’ you with his thoughts (which is a large part of what you two have been working on)

“Are you sure?” you ask in hopes that he’ll cave and let you help.

His reaction shocks you - he raises his voice and snaps, “I said no, (y/n)! I don’t need to talk about it, just leave me alone!”

Now it’s your turn to flinch back. You’re not sure how to react - he’s never raised his voice at you before - so you just say, “okay,” and get up to leave, your voice barely a whisper. 

For half a second you think _maybe he’ll stop me_ , but he doesn’t. He’s looking pointedly in the other direction, crossing his arms and bouncing his knee as if your very presence is annoying him. 

It’s late enough to go to sleep, you decide and walk to the master bedroom in a haze before realizing that you’re not sure if Spencer will want you there or not - you freeze in your tracks and turn around, making your way to the guest bedroom instead.

You’re so shocked you don’t even brush your teeth or get undressed, just climb under the unfamiliar covers and lie in bed, pretending to sleep.

…

Later - you’re not sure how much, but you think it’s at least been a few hours - you hear Spencer padding down the hall, his socks muffling his footsteps. He turns into the master only to realize you’re not there, then walks over to hover in the doorway of the guest-room. Your back is to him, but you can practically feel his presence and see the crease in his brow. 

He sighs and tentatively steps over to you, kneeling down by the bed so that he’s eye level with you - noticing that you’ve opened your eyes. He looks upset with himself, and for a fleeting moment you think good, he should be - you know he only lashed out because he was upset, but it’s still no excuse for snapping at you.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, and you can hear the sincerity in his voice.

“I know you are,” you reply, because while you two need to talk it out before you can forgive him, that doesn’t mean you can’t acknowledge his apology. You’re too tired, though, to talk about it now, so you continue, “we can talk about it in the morning, right now I just need you to come to bed.”

He does, wrapping his arms around you and letting out a sigh of relief when you sink back into him.


	24. spencer has a crush on dakota johnson

You’re reading a magazine - just to have something to do on the plane - one day when you first notice it. Spencer’s sitting across from you and completely ignoring the book open on his lap, instead he’s using his time to stare directly at the cover of the magazine with a slight blush creeping its way up his face. 

You raise an eyebrow and turn the magazine around to see what’s got him so distracted, but there’s just a glamour shot of Dakota Johnson and Jamie Dornan in the newest installment of the _Fifty Shades_ series. Just a few days ago, Spencer spent about an hour ranting about the unhealthy relationship dynamic between Christian and Anastasia, which turned into a discussion about the negative and potentially dangerous impact the series has had on the BDSM scene and people looking to get into it (he knows a lot more about BDSM than you expected he would, and you wonder if he was hinting at _something else_ by bringing it up…)

You think he’s probably just caught up in a mental continuation of his discussion, and anyway he turns back to his book as soon as you notice him looking. The whole interaction lasts about five seconds, and while it strikes you as odd, it’s not enough to make you think about it any further.

…

You forget about it completely until you’re over at Spencer’s apartment for a stay-in-date one Saturday and you ask him if he wants to watch Netflix with you. He’s a little distracted by his book, but mumbles a, “Yeah sure,” nonetheless, so you retrieve his dinosaur of a laptop and set it up on the coffee table in front of you. You open it and uhhh -

Spencer is jolting to awareness in alarm, lunging forward to snap his laptop shut and cease the lewd noises coming out of it. Your first assumption is that he was watching porn and forgot to close the window when he was quote-unquote _done_ because he’s technologically challenged like that, but…

“Were you watching… _Fifty Shades of Grey_?” you ask, almost in disbelief of your own words.

He turns bright red and starts sputtering, “Uhhhhh…well, I - um, you see…”

“Just the other week you were telling me how much you _hate_ that series.”

“I do!” he defends himself, “I really do, it’s just…I dunno. I realized I hadn’t actually seen it, and therefore I was making judgements about it based on other people’s opinions and that’s just not the best thing to be doing? Anyway, it turns out I completely agree with them, but then I had already rented it so I figured I might as well get my money’s worth and - “

_Ah, I see what’s going on here_

“You just like Dakota Johnson,” you say with a chuckle and sly grin.

He flushes even redder and immediately starts denying it, “W-what? _NoIdon’t_ ,” but he speaks much too quickly and refuses to meet your eyes, so you know you’re right on point.

“You totally do!” you continue, just to fluster him a little - you’re secure enough in yourself that it doesn’t bother you at all, but the fact that he’s crushing on the star of a movie series he _can’t stand_ otherwise is just too great to pass up.

He doesn’t have a response for that, just squirms a little under your teasing gaze. 

(And if you end up finishing the movie with him? Well, nobody needs to know)

…

 _“_ Someone _totally has the hots for Dakota Johnson”_

_“Does he now?”_

_“…”_

_“Awe look he’s blushing”_

_“Guys stahp”_

_“It’s okay, I love you - celebrity crush on Ms. Johnson and all”_


	25. reid likes reader in leather

Spencer’s first thought when (y/n) comes back out of the bathroom, hefting her go-bag over her shoulder and adorned in a black leather jacket and pants that are practically skin tight - both with silvery zips and buttons - is _holy shit._

His (secret) crush is based entirely on her mind and her personality, but that doesn’t mean he can’t _appreciate_ the fact that she looks _damn good_ in all leather. And he is definitely appreciating it - so much so, in fact, that he has to pull his satchel to the front a little in order to preserve his modesty. Because despite how amazing (y/n) looks right now, the middle of his work place while they’re both on the job is a really inconvenient time to be so, um, _excited._

She’s right about to go undercover and most likely meet face-to-face with the unsub - which is why she’s dressed this way in the first place - and he’s not usually one to be overtaken by dirty thoughts, especially not while he’s working (and about his _coworker_ , no less), but _damn._ All he can think about is how great her butt would feel in his hands, and how he’d pull the zips down teasingly slow -

“(y/l/n), you ready?” Hotch’s voice snaps Spencer out of his daydream, an embarrassed (and mildly shameful) flush spreading across his cheeks that he hopes desperately is overlooked as (y/n) gets wired up and everyone else gets ready for go time.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” she replies, futzing with her jacket a little in such a way that - 

_Nope, stopping right there. Focus on your work, Spencer_

\- And if Morgan sends a sly smirk his way after (y/n) has left the station, well. Spencer is pretending he didn’t see that.

…

The sting starts out fine, goes to shit, and then turns out okay in the end.

It starts like this: (y/n), monitored only by the audio from the wire, is approached by a man hoping to make a deal for heroin - exactly what the team was expecting. Only, it’s unclear whether this guy is the unsub, or just someone hoping to score. Differentiating between the two is left to Reid, for obvious reasons that are almost never spoken out loud, but it’s hard for him to tell with just the audio. 

Then, before he’s had a chance to make any kind of determination despite his very fast processing speed, there’s a muffled _“oof!”_ in (y/n)’s voice and the wire cuts out. The whole team immediately leaps into action, drawing their weapons and running from the surveillance vehicles to where (y/n) is positioned - it’s not as close as they’d like it to be due to the fear of rousing the unsub’s suspicion. 

When they reach the scene, (y/n) has the man slammed into the alleyway wall face-first and is reaching for her cuffs, barking out, “Definitely our guy - little bastard tried to drug me,” as soon as she hears the rest of the team approach. 

A collective sigh of relief passes through everyone, but none more so than Spencer. It’s then that he decides he needs to tell her, regardless of whether or not she feels the same. 

…

(y/n) changes back into her normal clothes as soon as she gets back to the station, then rushes outside for what Spencer presumes is a cigarette. He’d preach to her about the dangers of smoking like he used to do to his mother, but he knows it wouldn’t do any good - she only smokes on occasion anyway.

(And besides, it’d make him a hypocrite)

Smoking is something he does when the cravings for harder drugs are a little too much to handle (though he hates to admit that’s still something that happens sometimes) - and he’s aware that it’s an unhealthy coping mechanism just the same, okay? 

He knows that he should call someone or go to a meeting instead, but sometimes he just can’t force himself to do it. And he smokes maybe two or three times per year, so he’s not especially inclined to make himself do anything about it at the moment.

These drug-related cases always get to him, and so he follows (y/n) outside and bums a cigarette - he’s not in the habit of carrying a pack with him. They stand there, leaning back against the police station wall and blowing smoke into the air, for a good few minutes in comfortable silence. Then, when Spencer is about half-way through his and (y/n) is reaching for a second, he speaks.

“You know, when the wire cut out I was really scared.”

She pauses in her movement and turns toward him instead, giving him her full attention. Spencer takes one last drag, then throws the butt to the ground, stomping it out under his shoe (and then picking it up - he’s environmentally conscious like that).

“And so,” he continues, worrying the cigarette paper between his fingers, “I want to tell you something,” he takes a deep breath, “I kinda love you, (y/n). And I don’t expect you to say it back, or even reciprocate or anything. I just needed you to know. You know, _just in case_.”

Her response is to lean in with a gentle smile, her breath tickling his ear as she whispers, “I kinda love you too, Spencer Reid.”

…

_“So you like leather, do you?”_

_“Um - I, well, I - “_

_“Don’t try to deny it, mister - I saw you checking me out earlier!”_

_“Uhm…”_

_“We’ll have to see if I can get you into some leather too, and I don’t just mean your satchel”_

_“…!!!”_


	26. reid x reader where reader is morgan's sister

You met Spencer Reid years ago, back when all that bullshit about Derek being accused of murder happened. Between everything that was happening (and, later, everything that came to light as a result of the case), pursuing a relationship with him really wasn’t at the forefront of your mind. And anyway, you weren’t really looking for a relationship, especially not a long distance one, at the time.

But now, watching him walk into your new apartment for the housewarming party your brother’s friend Garcia insisted upon throwing you (a job opportunity came up in DC, and although you loved being close to your mom, you were feeling a little stuck back in Chicago. And besides, now you’ll get to see Derek more often, and you two have always been close) and give you a friendly smile, looking way more attractive in a sweater vest than he has the right to, you find the thought sticking your mind. 

And it seems like he has the same idea - Derek’s whole team is here, but Spencer sticks much closer to you than any of the others do. He’s definitely grown up, at least a little, from the green agent he was the last time you saw him, but you recognize the same subtle awkwardness and tendency to ramble that you noticed before. You found it endearing back then, but you find it attractive now - you feel like you could listen to him talk all night (and you’re sure he’s talk that long, if given the chance)

You slip him your number when he’s not paying attention, a little something for him to smile about later. And if when you’re undressing before bed, long after your guests have left, you find his card - with his personal number scrawled on the back - in the back pocket of your pants? Well, you just _know_ it’s the start of something special.

…

It becomes a game of sneaking around - you’re dating your protective older brother’s coworker. Enough said. 

You sometimes go out on dates to places both you and Spencer are _sure_ Morgan would never go, but mostly you hang out at each other’s apartments. You learn that Spencer is _frightfully_ bad at cooking when he tries to surprise you with a home cooked meal. Your date turns into eating take-out on the couch (while Spencer pouts about his failed dish), and then scrubbing the burnt scum off of the bottom of the many pans he managed to almost ruin (you’re still not sure how _that_ happened)

Somehow, it’s one of the best dates you’ve ever been on - by the end, you end up throwing suds at each other and laughing about how silly it makes you look. If this had happened with any of your exes, you probably would have tolerated it at best - the fact that you actually _enjoyed_ washing dishes with Spencer is a testament to just how compatible you two are.

Spencer’s a little nervous when things get, ahem, _heated_ for the first time - he’s so worried that your brother will somehow just _know_ that he ‘did the deed’ with his little sister that he ends up having, um, _performance issues_. To be honest, you’re a little worried too, but you’re pretty sure Derek won’t be _too_ mad once he does find out (because he’s going to find out eventually, you know that), and you reassure Spencer as much. It goes a long way towards settling him, and things go well that first time (and _continue_ to go well after that, too)

…

You’re enjoying a lazy Saturday morning in bed with your boyfriend when you both hear someone come in the front door. Spencer’s immediately on high alert, but you reassure him, “Derek has a key, it’s probably just him.”

And then, seeing his face grow even more alarmed, you realize. That’s not a reassurance _at all._

You leap out of bed and start throwing some clothes on, tossing a set of Spencer’s clothes in his direction in the process. He’s just starting to pull them on when -

Derek calls, “Hey, (y/n) - you up?” from right outside your bedroom door. 

“Just a minute, I’m getting dressed!” you call back, surprising yourself with the amount of normalcy you’re able to maintain. You and Spencer look at each other with wide eyes before you shove him into the bathroom and close the door behind him. 

You slowly creep back over to your bedroom door, taking a moment to collect yourself before swinging it open just like you always do and greeting your brother, “Hey Derek, what’re you doing here?”

He lifts an eyebrow and gestures to a bag that you immediately recognize as being from your favorite bakery, “Just thought I’d drop by with some pastries, you know, like the amazing big brother I am.”

You’re really not sure exactly how you’re gonna get Spencer out of here, but agreeing to the pastries will buy you some time to think, so you do, “Awe thanks! Why don’t you take them out to the kitchen? I just need to go to the bathroom real quick.”

As soon as he nods and turns the corner, you practically sprint back over to the bathroom, slipping inside to see Spencer with an absolutely horrified look on his face. 

“What’re we gonna do!?” he whisper shouts.

You shake your head back at him, “I have no fucking clue - just stay in here and be quiet okay?”

“(y/n) - if he sees me it’s going to be _abundantly_ clear that I slept here - “

“Spencer, I’ll take care of it. Just be quiet, okay?” 

He takes a deep breath, “Okay. Okay, I can do that.”

“Yes you can,” you reply before slipping back out and making your way to the kitchen. 

You’re about halfway through your cherry Danish, making conversation you desperately hope sounds normal, when Derek suddenly stops mid sentence and starts squinting at something behind you. You confused at first before you realize -

_Oh fuck. We left -_

“Is that Reid’s tie?” Derek asks, already starting to stand and make his way over.

“What tie?” you feebly deny, “I don’t see a tie, you must be imagining things!”

“Nah, I’m absolutely positive Reid was wearing that tie when he left work last night. Why would you have Reid’s tie -”

And then he realizes, and you stomach damn near drops out of your ass. You can tell what’s about to happen, but can’t seem to make yourself do anything to stop it -

“REID!” Derek yells, his voice practically rattling the walls of your apartment.

There’s a dull _thud!_ from the other room, and Derek goes stomping over before you can stop him. Spencer is stumbling out of your bedroom, already stuttering out, “Morgan, Morgan I can explain - I can explain!”

He takes one look at Spencer - at his messy hair and haphazard state of dress - and exclaims, “You’re _having sex_ with my little sister! I don’t think I _need_ to hear any more than that!”

Spencer just swallows nervously and lets out a meek “Um…” at the same time that you interrupt with -

“Derek stop! He’s my boyfriend!”

Derek goes stone still for a second, though continuing to glare at Spencer all the while.

“ _What!?_ ” he finally hisses out, his gaze still fixed firmly on Spencer.

You grab him by the shoulders and force him to look at you, “He’s my boyfriend, and I’m so sorry we didn’t tell you, but we were afraid you’d react, well - like this. And then months passed, and we kinda just got used to keeping it a secret. So please, _please_ don’t be mad.”

He practically melts at your words - he has a total soft spot for you, though he’d never admit it - and sighs before muttering, “So you and Pretty Boy, huh?”

You hum out a soft, “Mmhm,” and pull him into a hug, grinning at Spencer over his shoulder and watching him let out a huge sigh of relief.

…

 _“I’m trying very,_ very _hard not to think about you sleeping with my little sister.”_

_“…I don’t know what to say to that.”_

_“…maybe it’s better if you just don’t say anything.”_

_“I’d really rather not discuss this with you.”_

_“Good. Neither would I.”_


	27. dad!reid meets his kid's first date

Last week when Jackson (your lab partner in AP Chem) asked you out, you were thrilled. You were so _incredibly_ excited to be going out on a date with the guy you’ve been crushing on since the beginning of the year. 

But now, about thirty minutes before he’s due to pick you up and take you to the movies (cliche first date, but who cares! Not you, that’s for sure - you love the movies), you’re still excited, but you think you’re quite possibly the most nervous you’ve ever been in your life.

You’ve been ready to go - physically, at least - for the past hour, and you’ve been sitting on the couch and trying to distract yourself from your nervousness with some TV ever since then. You think maybe it would be working, except for the part where _your dad_ is pacing around the living room, still in his work clothes. 

In hindsight, maybe it would have been better to tell him about the date a little earlier - you kind of...sprung it on him when he got home from work about twenty minutes ago. Although, telling him earlier would have just given him even more time to worry about it. So maybe not.

You were half-hoping he would get called away on a case and wouldn’t return until the date had already happened, but then again if the date ends up going badly, it’ll be nice to spend some time letting him comfort you once you get back home. Anyway, at least your dad’s pacing is distracting you a little? Sort of?

The doorbell rings - five minutes early, because Jackson is that type of guy - and both of your fluffy heads snap toward the door. You leap to your feet, hoping you’ll somehow be able to make it to the door before your dad even though he’s much closer. Of course, that doesn’t happen - poor Jackson is met with the sternly considering face of your father.

You slide up next to him and nudge him to the side a little with your foot, hissing under your breath, “Dad! Stop profiling my date!” because you know that’s _exactly_ what he’s doing.

His expression flashes with sheepishness - _I knew it!_ \- before settling into an amiable smile. Jackson looks nervously between you and your dad, finally managing to stutter out, “N-nice to meet you, Mr. Reid.”

You internally flinch, knowing how your dad’s next words are going to come across, regardless of the fact that he most likely isn’t actually that bothered.

“It’s Dr. Reid,” he says, right on cue.

Jackson balks, “Oh! Uh...I didn’t know, um - (y/n) never - “

“Dad, this is Jackson,” you jump in, attempting to rescue the situation, “We’re gonna go to the movies now, okay?” you say, already starting to walk out the door.

“Wait!” he reaches out for you, his jacket brushing aside with the motion -

Jackson gasps and pales, alarm flooding his expression. You furrow your brow in confusion and turn back to look at your dad - 

His revolver is now on full display, catching the light every time he moves. Jackson now _definitely_ thinks you’ve got some kind of ‘hurt them and I’ll kill you’ type father, and that _definitely_ isn’t what you want! And you're pretty sure your dad isn’t even _trying_ to put off that kind of energy anyway - you kind of bombarded him with the whole _date_ thing as soon as he got home, and he must’ve just forgotten to take off his gun.

You dad, completely oblivious to all of that, jumps straight into one of this infamous rambles -

“Before you go I just want to make sure that you know to keep to well-lit areas and be wary of strangers! And Jackson - (y/n) told me you have your license already and that you’ll be driving tonight, I just want to make sure you know to minimize distractions while behind the wheel and make sure to keep your eyes on the road! I know I can’t stop you from talking or listening to the radio, but I’m trusting you to be responsible with your license. You guys will be out for a few hours at least and it’ll be a bit late by the time the date is over - if you’re even a little bit tired, don’t risk it! Have (y/n) give me a call, and I’ll come pick you guys up - oh!”

He reaches down and starts patting his pockets while you and Jackson look on in a daze. He doesn’t find whatever he’s looking for, so he says, “Hold on just a minute,” and disappears back into the apartment. 

You and Jackson share a look, seconds away from just taking off for the movies when -

Your dad comes scrambling back, shoving a few things in Jackson’s direction. One of the crinkles a little bit and.. _.is that - !?_

“I figured you should have my number too, just in case, so here’s my card! Give me a call if you need help with anything and I’ll do my best, okay?” he continues without waiting for a response, “And while I was looking through my work bag for my wallet, I... _found_ this condom, so as much as I can’t condone any sexual activity since you two are both underage, I want you to have it just in case anything does happen. And - “

“Ooookay dad!” you interrupt, way past ready for this conversation to be over, “We’re gonna go now, see you when I get home!”

You grab Jackson by the arm and practically pull him down the hallway - he’s still a little frozen in shock. You pause once you turn the corner and you’re sure your dad can’t see you anymore and start sputtering, “ _Ohmygosh_ I can’t believe he did that! He means well, he really does, he just...gets carried away sometimes, that’s all. And he’s not going to shoot you! He just forgot to take his gun off after work because -”

Jackson just stares down at the two little objects in his hands, slowly lifting his eyes to meet yours. He says, “I can’t believe your dad just gave me a condom,” while he tries to blink away his shock.

And then you just start cracking up because isn’t your dad just the best?

… 

_“This is your dad’s business card...”_

_“Um, yeah? Is there something special about it?”_

_“No, it’s just...he said he found the condom while searching through his bag...for his business card…”_

_“...”_

_“Doesn’t that imply that...you dad keeps condoms in his work bag...?”_

_“...Jackson, I need you to do something for me.”_

_“...okay?”_

_“Please for the love of god, never say the words ‘your dad’ and ‘condom’ in the same sentence ever again.”_


	28. 5+1 times the team thinks reader is pregnant

When Spencer hands out wedding invitations to the team just three weeks after popping the question, everyone exchanges glances (while he’s not looking, or course). He dated (y/n) for almost _four years_ before proposing, and now they’re suddenly in a huge rush to get married? The obvious explanation is that she’s pregnant - _she has to be, doesn’t she?_

As it turns out, Spencer and his new fiancé just got incredibly excited about planning the wedding and found a good deal on a venue they liked - they’re just having a small event for family and close friends, so there was no need to plan super far in advance, or to prepare for anything super fancy. And when the wedding happens a few months later, there is a distinct lack of the baby-bump the team (Garcia especially) was still secretly hoping for.

… 

_two_

JJ and Garcia are out for lunch with (y/n) one weekend when they notice it - she keeps palming over her belly almost without thinking about it. The two of them notice in unison and steal a glance at each other - _this must be it, it must be!_

Just as Garcia’s opening her mouth, (y/n) makes a face and says, “I let Spencer cook yesterday and he over-salted everything, but he tried so hard and I felt bad about not liking it, so I ate it anyway. I’m so bloated!”

JJ snorts out a laugh as Garcia’s face falls in poorly concealed disappointment. (y/n) furrows her brow and looks back and forth between them, completely oblivious to the silent conversation that went on while she was lamenting her salt-induced bloat.

… 

_three_

Spencer comes rushing into work ten minutes late with a furrowed brow, nearly spilling coffee on himself in his haste to make it to the morning briefing. Everyone turns to look at him, curious because he’s rarely late for work - he’s usually pretty early because he relies on the Metro and he leaves tons of extra time for the commute because he worries about missing his train.

Once he situates himself, he starts babbling, “Sorry, sorry! (y/n) just woke up really sick this morning and…” 

Spencer keeps talking, but everyone else has focused on the phrase ‘sick this morning,’ leaning forward in their seats in anticipation - _is this it? Are they finally having a baby?_ And the idea builds and builds with every day he shows up with a furrowed brow, concerned over his wife’s illness and his inability to help beyond warming up soup and keeping the pantry stocked with crackers.

When Spencer calls in sick three days later because he has the flu, the team pretends not to be disappointed - pregnancy is, of course, not contagious. 

… 

_four_

(y/n) has been joining the team when they go out for drinks for a while now - since about a year and a half into her and Spencer’s relationship - so her drinking habits are well known to the team. She’s definitely not a _heavy_ drinker, but she’ll nurse a cocktail or two. 

So when she accompanies Emily to the bar to order drinks for everyone and gets _two_ Sprites instead of the usual one, Emily raises her brow - Spencer likes to stay away from alcohol, that’s not a secret, but (y/n) has never passed up the first round before. She can’t help but to sneak glances at (y/n)’s stomach while the two of them wait, trying to see if a little bump has started to form.

She holds back for a few minutes, but with how busy the bar is the drinks are taking a while and the question is practically burning her throat. “So, Sprite huh?” is what she ends up asking, hoping her real question isn’t too obvious.

(y/n) replies, “Hmm? Oh, yeah - I’m just not feeling like drinking right now.”

It’s not enough to satisfy Emily’s curiosity, though she’s not usually one to pry, especially after so many months of wondering when it’ll finally happen. She presses on, “You’ve never refused alcohol before…”

(y/n) furrows her brow in confusion, “Why are you…?” The exact moment when she realizes what Emily’s really asking is apparent - her face lights up with amusement and she chuckles a little as she replies, “Oh, no - I’m not pregnant.”

“Then why…?” Emily can’t help but to ask.

The amusement melts out of (y/n)’s face, her lips tightening instead as she considers the question. Emily almost thinks she isn’t going to answer, but then she takes a deep breath and says, “Well, Spencer’s been…um, having a hard time lately. You know, I guess. I wanted to show my support, so I decided to take a break from alcohol. I-I just…I dunno. There’s not much I can do other than support him while he works through it, so…”

 _That’s what I get for pushing_ , Emily thinks, swallowing awkwardly as she tries to think of a response. She’s aware of Spencer’s history with substance abuse - of course she is, she was there when it was at its height - but it’s not something he really talks about (which is understandable). It’s nice to know he doesn’t just bottle it all up anymore, that he talks about it with his wife and that she’s supportive.

Just then, the bartender comes back with their drinks - two Sprites, and numerous other alcoholic beverages - and (y/n) starts carrying them back to everyone else. It’s obvious the conversation is over.

… 

_five_

The next time the team suspects is months later - Spencer comes in to work discussing the differences between types of bread and how (y/n) has suddenly decided she doesn’t like their usual brand and how the pair spent the weekend trying out different ones until she found a new one she liked - apparently, the Reid fridge is currently home to ten loaves of varying types and Spencer’s worried they’ll go stale before they can eat them all. 

JJ squints at him over her paperwork, listening intently and trying to figure out the source of (y/n) sudden change of taste. She idly suggests putting the extra loaves in the freezer while she thinks, texting the team - sans Spencer - about the development while he rambles.

Not even five minutes later, Garcia comes bustling out of her office and heads straight for Spencer’s desk. Before JJ can even _think_ about stopping her, she blurts out, “ _Ohmygosh_ is (y/n) pregnant? Are you two having a baby genius for me to spoil? I can’t believe it’s finally happening!”

Spencer blinks at her in surprise for a moment before shaking his head and responding, “Nonono, we’re not - (y/n)’s not…um, we’re not even trying to - um!” as his cheeks grow more and more red. He finally settles on, “(y/n)’s not pregnant,” the sentence coming out so fast it practically sounds like one word.

Garcia’s face melts with disappointment, but JJ just smiles to herself - she knows very well that you don’t need to be _trying_ , necessarily, to get pregnant, and she has a good feeling about about this.

… 

_plus one_

When Spencer comes into work two weeks and three days later absolutely _beaming_ despite how much he’s trying to hide it, JJ knows she was right. He doesn’t say anything about it right away, he won’t for a while yet, but she just knows - so does the rest of the team, in fact, if the smiles and glances that they behind his back are anything to go by.

So when the day finally comes that Spencer tentatively invites the team over for dinner, fiddling with his hands and rocking on his heels just a little, no one is surprised - they’ve been anticipating this pregnancy for _years_ at this point, since long before the engagement, and the joy that it’s finally happened is immense.

_(Spencer can’t stop smiling the entire dinner and he practically glues himself to (y/n)’s side - just as much of a hovering expectant father as his teammates knew he would be. After the announcement is made, he kneels down and kisses her belly and everyone smiles - baby Reid has been long anticipated and will be well loved, there’s no question about that)_


	29. reid and reader both like sweatervests

Y

ou’d heard of Dr. Reid long before transferring to the BAU - mostly positive things ( _I attended one of his seminars the other week, you know? I mean I knew he was a genius, but_ wow), but also a few negatives ( _You know how many exceptions they made for that kid? I wouldn’t trust him with a gun, is all I’m saying_ ) though it’s abundantly clear that the negatives are all borne out of jealousy rather than being based on facts. 

Reid’s also known for being a bit of a germaphobe ( _I met him once and I thought he was a bit rude for not shaking my hand, but then he started going on and on and on about germs and - well, we all have our quirks I guess_ ), but honestly you can’t fault him for that - 1,500 bacteria live on each square centimeter of our hands, after all. Gross!

Anyway you’d never seen him in person before, and to be honest you pictured him as one of the typical suit-and-tie agents you’ve grown to expect by this point. So when you walk into the floor 6 bullpen for the first time and Unit Chief Hotchner introduces you to his team - _your_ team, now - Dr. Reid isn’t what you expected at all.

He’s tall and his hair is, uh, _quite_ messy (in a cute way!), and he’s wearing a patterned sweater vest - you’re pretty sure you own the same exact one, actually, though you’re not wearing it right now. He gives you a little wave in greeting - as expected, he doesn’t offer to shake your hand - and says, “Hi, I’m Dr. Spencer Reid, it’s nice to meet you!” with a gentle smile and you can’t help but smile back.

…

A few weeks later you come to work wearing a soft burgundy cardigan and stop dead in your tracks before you even reach your desk - Reid is wearing the same one and you had a feeling that this might happen one day, but so soon? You can stop a chuckle from escaping and he looks up, takes in your outfit, and promptly joins you in laughter.

“Nice sweater,” you say once you’ve finally managed to get a hold of yourself.

“You too,” he replies, lips twitching as he tries (and fails) to contain a smile.

Later, when you end up at the coffee machine at the same time, an idea hits you and you can’t help but to suggest, “Hey, maybe we can…go shopping together sometime…?”

He just blinks at you for a moment. You’re about to start backtracking, cheeks flushed with embarrassment, when he finally manages to stutter out, “Y-yeah we, um - yeah, that sounds great!”

…

The first shopping trip doesn’t end up happening until almost a month later, what with work getting in the way and all. But once it finally _does_ happen, it goes like this:

You two both end up taking the metro and laugh about running into each other on the train before even reaching the store. Once you finally get inside, Spencer immediately gets distracted by a rack of fancy patterned socks and you get to witness his selection process first hand (it involves mentally comparing the socks to all the - many, _many_ \- pairs he has at home and making sure the new pair is sufficiently different). Then, you both end up fixating on the same checkered sweater vest and decide to both purchase it. _It’ll be fine_ as long as you get it in different colors - he buys the navy and white, and you buy the black and grey. 

…

 _Of course, the rest of the team still notices when you both end up wearing it to work the following Monday (_ Ohmygosh, how cute - you guys are wearing the same thing _again_! _), but it’s not like you’re trying to hide it or anything. Let them think whatever they want, it’s more fun that way._


	30. poc!reader showing spencer how to use a hair bonnet

The scene you walk in on after emerging from the bathroom - steam trailing behind you and a towel tucked around your chest - is one you won’t be forgetting for a long time. Spencer is pacing around the bedroom, bent over at the waist and trying to shove all of his fluffy hair into one of your satin bonnets.

You can’t help but to let out a giggle, bringing a hand up to your lips as you try to hold it in so as to not embarrass him, and he looks up the second he hears your voice. It only makes you laugh harder - the bonnet is _technically_ on, you guess, but most of his hair is flopped in front of his face rather than being tucked inside and, well, you can’t decide if it’s more adorable or hilarious. 

He starts trying to brush his hair out of his face, looking at you through the veil of wavy brown strands, sputtering out, “I-I was just, um…”

You step over to him, thumbing over his cheek with a gentle smile, “Why don’t you take _that_ ,” you glance up at the bonnet haphazardly tucked over his head, “off and I’ll help you put it on the _right_ way.”

An adorable blush spreads across his face as he breathes out a soft, “Okay,” and reaches his hands up to tug off the bonnet. You guide him to sit down on the bed, leaving him only to retrieve a bottle of leave-in conditioner and a hair-tie, then climb up to sit behind him. You stroke the conditioner through his hair, taking the time to massage circles into his scalp and smiling when he sighs and melts back into you. 

You gently pull his hair back into a tiny, loose ponytail, tucking the bonnet over his head with practiced ease once you’ve finished. He hums out his content, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck. You press a kiss into the crown of his satin-covered head and mumble out, “Where’d you get this idea from all of the sudden?”

His lips ghost across your skin as he replies, “Just wanted my hair to be soft like yours.”


	31. reading with spencer on a rainy day

You’re less than a block away from your apartment when the first drops of rain start falling. You instinctively squint up at the overcast sky, raising a hand to protect your head when the drizzle turns into proper rain, tugging your coat closed to keep out the rain. You’re just about to start running for shelter when Spencer pulls you into a hug, gazing up at the sky with a huge grin, spinning you around as laughter rumbles through his chest. 

You don’t know what’s so special about the rain today, why it’s suddenly bringing Spencer so much joy, but it doesn’t matter at all. You haven’t seen him smile this wide in many, many months - not since before Mexico and prison and Scratch - and his joy is enough to wash away any lingering annoyance over getting wet.

You laugh right along with him, sticking out your tongue to catch the rain and threading your fingers through his soaked mop of hair, drinking in the sound of his happiness after going without for so long. After a while, he stills and leans his head back, closing his eyes and just letting the rain wash over him. You feel his chest hitch a little against yours and that’s when you notice it - his tears are disguised by the rain, but they’re not invisible. 

You don’t know exactly why he’s crying - it’s not uncommon for this to happen anymore, for him to be suddenly overwhelmed by…just _life_. Why _exactly_ he’s crying doesn’t matter right now anyway, not yet. Not until he’s calmed down and can process things fully. 

You brush your hands over his cheeks and pull him closer, whispering, “It’s okay, it’s okay, just let it out,” into his neck. He ducks his head and presses his forehead to yours, gripping the back of your coat and swaying gently back and forth, clenching his eyes shut as his breath stutters against your lips. 

“I-I…,” he forces out and it’s obvious he’s not ready yet.

“Shh, you don’t have to explain,” you softly reply, “Why don’t we go inside and change into some dry clothes first? I’ll make you some tea and we can just relax for a while, does that sound okay?”

His nod is slight but present, wet strands of hair falling into his face as he tries to respond. His voice wavers at first and he sucks in a breath, clearing his throat before starting again, “Will you…will you read to me?”

“Of course,” you whisper back, leading him inside after hearing a barely-there “Okay,” keeping a tight grasp on his hand and thumbing over it as if to reassure him you’re still there. He barely reacts except to follow, letting you tug off his coat and unbutton his shirt, changing into the soft pajamas you place in his hands. 

You sit him down on the couch, covering his shoulders with a heavy blanket and pulling him into your side. He sighs and practically melts into you, letting your voice wash over him as you begin to read, 

_“A drop fell on the apple tree, another on the roof. A half a dozen kissed the eaves and made the gables laugh. A few went out to help the brook that went to help the sea, myself conjectured were they pearls what necklaces could be*…”_

_…_

_*Emily Dickinson_


	32. spencer takes a painting class post-prison

The first time you see him is at the painting class you take on Sundays. He appears very put together on first glance with his shirt and tie - he’s overdressed, but you get the feeling this is about as casual as his clothes ever get. He’s meticulous in the way he works, listening intently to instructions and squinting at his canvas, fully planning out what he wants to paint before even thinking about raising his brush. 

His unkempt hair and patchy stubble tell a different story, as do the way he desperately paws at his eyes and subtly flinches whenever the instructor gestures too wildly. He keeps shaking his head as if it’ll chase away unwanted thoughts and glancing around the room with wild eyes - his gaze lingers on the door and you get the feeling he’s fighting the urge to flee from some invisible threat, mapping out an escape route in case he just can’t fight it any longer. 

You don’t talk to him that first time. Not for lack of wanting to, but because he hurries out as soon as the class is over, stuffing his things into a leather satchel and speed-walking out of the room. Maybe it’s better that you didn’t anyway - he was distressed enough just coming to the class and you’re pretty sure meeting someone new would have just added to that. 

You’re actually not expecting to see him again after that - it’s just a casual class people take to relax, and he was _anything but_ that first time - but he comes again the next Sunday like clockwork, seven minutes early and settling down in the same spot he occupied the week before.

You smile at him over your easel and compliment his painting at the end of class - it’s a little hard to tell, but you’re pretty sure he just painted what he can see out the window of the classroom 

(later, he’ll tell you it’s because he couldn’t focus enough to think of anything else, so he just painted what he saw. You’ll look over his shoulder and see a new painting, this time with swirling blues and blacks - how it feels to live in a cage, he’ll tell you - all the while thinking about how far he’s come). 

He tells you “My name is Spencer and I…I’m not really sure what I’m doing here. My therapist told me I should try something new, so I signed up for the first class I saw that didn’t involve physical activity…” He furrows his brow at his own words and starts to backtrack, “I-I’m not sure why I just told you that, I just…,” trailing off and swallowing nervously, dragging a hand over his left eye and clearing his throat.

“Whatever you’re dealing with, I’m not here to judge you for it,” you reply. Then, after a pause, “I’m (y/n), see you next week?”

He blinks at you for a moment, stuttering out, “Y-yeah. Yeah, see you next week, (y/n).”

…

The next time you see him you ask him out for coffee, saying, “I usually grab a hot chocolate from the café down the street after class, if you wanted to come with?”

He agrees, orders his coffee black and winces at the taste 

(one day he’ll explain it to you, pour sugar into his mug and say he loves his coffee syrupy sweet. “I didn’t feel like I deserved it anymore,” he’ll tell you, “Felt like maybe I belonged in prison, like maybe I ought to burn my tongue on bitter coffee precisely _because_ I don’t like it that way”)

You don’t comment on it, just slide the sugar closer and don’t push when he ignores it. Instead, you ask for his phone and install a free painting app, laugh when your hands bump against each other as you show him how to use it. He thanks you and smiles, just a little - it’s the ghost of a smile really, scarcely more than a twitch of the lips. But it’s much more than the blank, guarded look that masks his expression most of the time. 

He keeps showing up to the class, keeps accompanying you to the café afterwards. One day, a little over a month after you first saw him, he tells you he’s going back to work. That sometimes he gets called away on the weekends and won’t be able to make it to class. For a moment you think it’s a _goodbye_ , but then he stretches out a palm and asks for your phone, says, “I’d like to exchange numbers, if that’s okay with you?”

“Of course it is.”

…

You carry on like that for almost a year, chatting over coffee when he’s in town and chatting over the phone when he’s not. He takes the easel next to yours, starts smiling at you between brush strokes and painting things from his mind’s eye. 

One day, he asks you if “there’s a new exhibit at the Smithsonian I’ve been wanting to see, I thought maybe you’d like to come with me…?” and you reply, “That sounds great,” while biting back a grin.

He leads you around the museum, his attention jumping from subject to subject in his excitement, his hands making wild gestures as he rambles on. His voice still carries a bit of the gravely edge you know comes from sleepless nights, but it’s much better than it was months ago and now his smile stretches all the way across his face, the creases at the corners of his eyes betraying his joy.

It’s dark by the time he walks you to your door and you invite him in on a whim. You eat ice cream together on the couch, laughing over _Trouble with Tribbles_ and sipping on herbal tea, scooting closer and closer until you’re curled into his side and he’s resting his head on your shoulder, his hair ticking your cheek with every breath.

When you wake up in the morning, his head is resting in your lap, his face blissfully slack as soft snores escape his lips. There’s no awkwardness when he stirs awake and blinks up at you, only warmth and comfort and contentment.

… 

It happens during a moment like that, when you’re relaxing together on the couch, taking comfort in the warmth of each other’s bodies and the gentle lull of your chests as you breathe. He’s resting his head on his shoulder again and you’re combing through his hair, massaging circles into his scalp and smiling as a contented hum rumbles in his chest. 

He looks up at the same moment you look down and you end up face to face, glancing between eyes and mouths as you hover mere centimeters apart, feeling the warmth of each other’s breath and subconsciously licking your lips. When he kisses you, you knock your noses together at first, giggling into each other as you fumble into a rhythm, wrapping your arms around his waist as his hands cradle the back of your head. 

When it’s over, you wish it wasn’t. You want to do it again and again and again. And so you do - kissing on the couch like teenagers until your lips are chapped and swollen while the TV mumbles on in the background.

…

One Sunday he turns to you at the end of class, a soft blush creeping up his neck as he glances between you and his painting and whispers, “It’s you.” 

He’s painted blocks of bright colors and squiggly lines, a freedom clear in his strokes where before there was only rigidity and muted tones. “Thank you,” says the painting. “I love you,” says Spencer.

You brush a finger over his cheek, leaving a trail of paint in its wake, and say “I love you” right back.


	33. 'nothing' by bruno major

T

here’s something to be said about lounging around the apartment without making plans, spending hours and hours just existing in the same space without putting any particular effort into anything. You love laying your head on Spencer’s lap while he reads and watching him trail a finger down the pages, drinking in the words at a pace you know he considers leisurely. You love pressing the blue controller of your Switch into his hands and watching him fumble with the buttons, squinting down at the tiny screen and pouting when you beat him at Mario Kart.

You get drunk on orange juice and each other, swaying together in the living room to Billy Joel and Hoizer and Chopin, his fluffy hair tickling your cheeks as he tucks his chin into the crook of your neck. His voice is sweet in your ears as he rambles about topic after topic, growing less and less coherent as he kisses up your jaw, smiling into your lips when you finally press them to his. Hands sneak up shirt and under waistbands. His voice grows low with desire, rumbling deep in his chest as he sinks down onto the couch. You follow him, straddling his lap and threading your fingers through his hair, leaning in as he pulls you closer and closer…

You love going out on dates - walking hand in hand through museums, sharing pastries in the park, driving away from the city so you can stargaze properly - but you’d never trade them for this. For the soft lighting of your apartment and the gentle lull of Spencer’s chest under yours. Pretending you’re the only two people in the world and crying over indie movies, soaking in the silent ‘I love you’ that is his palm stroking over your back, pulling you close and rocking you through your tears while his own eyes water and his breath hitches with poorly concealed sobs. 

There’s something to be said about staying in, about doing nothing except breathing the same air together. Not worrying about other people and what they think and how they judge, showing each other your quirks and knowing you love them all without question. 

Spencer smiles down at you over his book, taking a moment to brush over your cheek before beginning to read out loud, 

_“I think you good, gifted, lovely: a fervent, a solemn passion is conceived in my heart; it leans to you, draws you to my centre and spring of life, wrap my existence about you—and, kindling in pure, powerful flame, fuses you and me in one*…”_

…

_*Jane Eyre_


	34. grocery shopping with spencer

Grocery shopping used to be such a chore - something you put off until there was practically nothing left to eat in your apartment, then begrudgingly dragged yourself through the aisles trying to get it over with as soon as possible so you could just go back home and pop something in the microwave or eat something cold. 

Even after you moved in with Spencer, he did all the grocery shopping at first - he’s so particular about his foods that it just made more sense that way. And, to maximize efficiency, you took on some of the other errands instead - after all, the errands get done quicker if you two split up, and the less time those things take the more time you have for relaxing at home together (or going out on dates, when you feel so inclined)

All of that is to say that you never imagined that you’d be standing here, in the bread section of your local grocery store, playfully bickering with Spencer over bagels -

_“Spencer, I thought we agreed we’d try to eat healthy this week!”_

_“These are healthy! Raisins are made from grapes, what are grapes? Fruits! Fruits are healthy, I rest my case”_

\- having the time of your life (and settling on _whole-wheat_ cinnamon raisin bagels as a happy medium). 

When you reach the produce section, you can’t help but to wiggle your eyebrows when you spot the eggplants, giggling at the adorable blush the starts to creep up Spencer’s neck (you’ve been teaching him about emoji’s lately, and while he doesn’t quite understand them all just yet, he certainly understands that one)

You chase each other around, racing to find the most misshapen vegetable and sharing nervous grins when the employees start to send suspicious looks in your direction. At some point Spencer casually drops a box of Pop-Tarts in the cart and you casually put them back. He averts his gaze and pretends not to notice, but the blush and poorly-concealed smile betray him.

(and when the box of Pop-Tarts has somehow made it back into the cart by the time you reach the check-out lines, all you can do is laugh - it’s a game you play with only one simple rule: if he manages to sneak his sweets in without you noticing, he gets to have them. No questions asked)

You can’t quite remember how you ended up shopping together the first time, but you’re grateful either way - you wouldn’t go so far as to say it’s the highlight of your week, but it’s definitely up there. And if Spencer has somehow managed to make grocery shopping, previously one of your most dreaded tasks, fun? Well, it just goes to show how well you two fit together.


	35. reader comforts reid after the events of 4x20

When Spencer gets home you can immediately tell that the case went poorly - he drops his things by the front door and immediately slinks over to the couch and curls into himself, digging his thumb into the crook of his left arm and rasping out shaky breaths. 

You inch over to him, keeping your movements slow and controlled - you’re not sure if he’s registered your presence and you don’t want to startle him, especially not when he’s like this. You kneel down in front of him in the narrow space between the foot of the couch and the coffee table, catching his eye under the long strands of hair that have fallen in front of his face. He’s not crying, not yet, but his breath is hitching a little in the way it does when he’s trying to hold back tears - reverting back to bottling everything up despite the progress he’s been making in that regard.

You tentatively place a hand over his socked-foot, stroking it up and down a little when he doesn’t pull away, trailing up his leg to his knee and letting the warmth of your palm help ground him, at least a little. He leans forward into you, a distressed hum building in his throat. You take it as your cue to pull yourself up onto the couch, wrapping your arms around him and applying just the right amount of pressure, swaying him back and forth a little as he buries his face in your shirt.

When he finally starts to cry, it’s quiet save for his ragged inhales and periodic sniffs. It’s as if there’s no sound that can express how he’s feeling, or maybe that silence says more than noise ever can. You sneak a hand between his thumb and his arm, redirecting him to hold his tie instead. He drags his fingers up and down along the seam and soon as it touches his hand - the best way to keep him from pressing bruises into his arms is to occupy his hands with something else (you’ve learned the hard way that pulling his hands away and telling him to stop will only make it worse).

He calms down eventually, letting out a sigh before sucking in a shaky breath and beginning to talk, “I-I couldn’t…I couldn’t save him.”

You keep your voice just above a whisper (whispers hurt his ears, he’s told you) when you reply, “Spencer, you know you can’t save them all. You did your best, it’s not your fault -”

“No,” he interrupts you, “Adam was…it-it wasn’t his fault…”

You furrow your brow in confusion, soothing circles over his back as you ask, “What do you mean?”

He glances up at you briefly before hiding his eyes again, his words muffled by your shirt as he replies, “He was like Tobias. I-I couldn’t…I couldn’t save -”

And he bursts into sobs for real this time, loud and ugly - you know exactly what he’s talking about now, and you know there’s not much you can do to make it better. You can hold him while he cries and listen to him while he talks through it (or tries to, at least), but nothing will ever erase what happened in Georgia two years ago. He’s been holding onto guilt over killing Tobias because it wasn’t really Tobias that hurt him. And Spencer is okay now, most of the time, but Adam must have dragged it all up, dragged up all those things that Spencer keeps bottled up.

He’s not ready to talk it out just yet, probably won’t be until tomorrow at the very earliest, so you just rock him through it. You can’t say ‘it’s okay’ because it’s not, or ‘it’s not your fault’ because he’ll never believe it. Instead, you hold him tightly and hum a soft melody, hoping desperately that one day these things won’t still hurt him so much.


	36. henry the matchmaker

Henry and Michael are two of Spencer’s favorite people in the world, so when JJ comes up to his desk with a pleading look on her face and says, “I have an appointment to run to after work and Will was supposed to pick the kids up because our sitter’s away for the week, but there was a pile-up on the freeway so he’s stuck at the station. Could you maybe swing by and pick them up on your way home?” his immediate response is, “Yeah, of course!”

Her face floods with relief, “Thank you, Spence. Just take them back to your apartment and I’ll come get them after my appointment, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah that sounds great!” he replies, “You know, I ordered a couple new decks of cards the other week and they just arrived a few days ago…,” Spencer’s mouth keeps talking, but he can barely hear himself anymore - he’s too caught up in imagining all the new magic tricks he can show Henry and Michael and the huge smiles he always manages to earn from the boys. 

…

Spencer picks up Henry first, sending him a text as he stands outside the gates to the middle school and bouncing on his heels while he waits. Henry bounds up to him with a smile, his backpack huge on his slight frame. As soon as he’s within hearing distance, he says, “Uncle Spence! I thought Dad was picking me up today.”

Spencer smiles back at him and replies, “You Dad got caught up at work,” then, after a pause, “Hey, have you been practicing that new shuffle I taught you?”

Henry’s eyes light up and he starts chattering away, gesturing with his hands and biting his tongue as he mimes shuffling a deck, letting Spencer steer him in the direction of the elementary school.

…

Michael’s after school program is held in one of the classrooms - the walls are covered in colorful posters and alphabet lettering and kid’s artwork. Michael comes running up to him as soon as he pokes his head through the door, bouncing on his feet and showing him “This cool Truck! My friend Sophie’s mom bought it for her, so it’s not mine - but she’s letting me play with it, isn’t that cool Uncle Spence?”

As he’s replying, saying “Wow! That’s so cool” with a huge grin, the counselor walks up to him, hovering next to him as she waits for a chance to jump in. 

Spencer sends a quick glance in her direction, then turns back to Michael, “Michael, it’s time to go home now, so can you give Sophie her truck back? And don’t forget to thank her for letting you play with it, okay?”

Once he’s bounded away, the counselor jumps in with, “Hi, I’m (y/n). I don’t think we’ve met?”

Spencer give a quick shake of the head, blushing a little as he takes in the woman before him - she’s dressed in bright colors and her hands are covered in what he’s pretty sure is washable marker. She starts squinting at him and Spencer realizes he’s gotten caught up in his thoughts and hasn’t replied. His blush deepens as he manages to stutter out, “N-No, we haven’t. Um, I’m Spencer? Spencer Reid, um - I’m Michael’s godfather, I should be on the list?”

She flips through a binder he just now realizes she’s been holding, her face relaxing a little once she sees his name. “Okay, awesome,” she mumbles to herself, flipping back to the front of the binder and pulling out a form, “Since this is your first time picking up, I’m just gonna need to see a photo ID and have you sign this form, okay?”

He just blinks at her for a moment, only snapping out of it when he hears Henry start chucking behind him. Spencer fumbles for his wallet, pulling out his driver’s license and handing it to her, filling out the form in his messy handwriting. Just then, Michael runs back over to him with his tiny backpack in hand, waving around a glue-y mess of an art project that hasn’t had enough time to dry. 

As Spencer’s herding the boys out the door, he hears (y/n)’s giggle behind him, her soft, “Bye Spencer,” echoing in his ears.

“ _Whipped_ ,” Henry teases with a sly grin. Spencer just furrows his brow and keeps walking as if Garcia didn’t teach him the word two weeks before.

…

Spencer tries to push her out of his mind, but their less-than-ten-minute interaction keeps invading his thoughts. He finds himself slinking up to JJ’s desk, tentatively suggesting, “If you and Will ever want to have a date night or something, I’m always free to pick up the boys.”

She thanks him for the offer and says, “Actually, Will and I were thinking of going out this Thursday, if that works for you?”

He jumps on the opportunity, grinning and nodding his head, “Yeah, yeah - of course!”

(And pretending he doesn’t see her try to stifle a smile as he walks back to his desk)

…

He blushes when (y/n) smiles at him as he walks in the door, barely managing to stutter out a “H-hi” as a fluttery feeling dances in his belly. Henry snickers in the doorway but Spencer ignores him, barely taking his eyes off of (y/n) as he gathers up Michael’s things. He bumps into the doorframe on his way out and hears her soft giggle and “Bye Spencer!” - maybe he’d be embarrassed if the sound of her laughter wasn’t swirling around in his head, distracting him from forming any coherent thoughts other than _‘wow’_

Once they’re out of earshot, Henry raises an eyebrow in his direction and says, “You should just ask her out.”

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Spencer mutters unconvincingly as the blush deepens on his cheeks.

“Uh huh,” replies Henry is a pointed tone, “ _Sure_ you don’t”

Spencer doesn’t have a good retort to that, so instead he makes a face and ushers Henry and Michael toward the Metro stop, mumbling “Come on, we’re gonna miss our train.”

…

In the end, it’s Michael that gives him away (thought let’s be honest - it wasn’t a very well-kept secret):

He comes running up to Spencer for the fourth week in a row, holding up a scribble-y drawing and babbling excitedly, “Look Uncle Spence, I drew you and Miss (y/n)! Henry told me you want her to be your _girl_ -friend. Does that mean you want to kiss her, Uncle Spence?”

Spencer turns absolutely bright red, glancing between Michael and Henry and (y/n), stuttering out, “Well, uhhh…I-I, um…”

(y/n) just blinks at him, a soft blush creeping up her neck. And then, of course Henry has to slyly interject, “Yeah, Uncle Spence - _does that mean you want to kiss her?_ ”

He clears his throat, nervously twisting his hands together as he opens and closes his mouth, trying to come up with something to say but drawing a complete blank. (y/n) collects herself first, leaning in a little and whispering, “Take me out to dinner first?”

It makes him even more flustered and he just barely manages to squeak out, “O-oh, yeah! Yeah, of course. Um, I should probably give you my number? Or, well, I guess you probably have it on file so you can just look it up…but uhh -”

She presses a colorful Post-it note into his hand and he instinctively looks down at it, near-instantly memorizing the ten-digit number she’s written on it in bubbly handwriting. “Give me a call,” she says with a soft grin, biting her bottom lip after the words come out.

…

 _“H-how um…_ obvious _was I? You know, before I…well, before_ you _asked me out?”_

 _“Oh Spencer, you were_ so _obvious - but I love that about you! Never change, okay?”_


	37. reader has stretch marks

You smooth your hands over the striations that mark your belly and your hips and your thighs, frowning as your palms brush over them, glancing up at your reflection and sighing as you turn back and forth. You’re just about to turn away - to slip on a shirt and tug it down by the bottom hem without even thinking about it, unconsciously making sure to keep them covered up - when you feel Spencer come up behind you. He wraps his arms around your middle and rests his chin on your shoulder, humming contentedly as his long fingers trace over your skin -

He’s thumbing over the marks on your belly as he presses kisses into your neck - you feel his lips tug upwards into a smile and you can’t help but to blurt out “What are you doing?” 

His voice is muffled and sleep-groggy when he replies, “I like patterns” - it’s so unexpected that you can’t help but laugh. You lean your head back and repeat, “You like patterns?”

“Mmhm,” he hums, letting a moment of comfortable silence pass before blurting out, “You know, it’s actually incredibly common to have stretch marks - well over 50% of people will develop them at some point. The stigma against stretch marks dates back to ancient history - Ancient Egyptians are known to have developed oils and ointments meant to prevent stretch marks during pregnancy.”

“Is that so?” you reply as the beginnings of a smile pull at your lips.

Spencer nods and his fluffy hair - extra messy because he’s just woken up - tickles your chin, “Topical creams and ointments really don’t do anything more than moisturize the skin, though. And anyway, stretch marks are so ubiquitous that most people don’t pay attention to them - for example, I have some on my back that I’m pretty sure you haven’t noticed before.”

“No you don’t,” you squint at him - _surely_ you would have noticed, right?

“I do!” he shoots back, spinning around and beckoning for you to lift up the back of his pajama shirt, “See for yourself!”

You tentatively reach out and pull his shirt up by the bottom hem - right there on his back are the striations you’re so familiar with, though they’re clearly old and long-faded. 

“See?” he says, craning his neck around to try and look at you, “I have them too!”

And he looks so excited about it that you can’t help but smile back.


	38. 'stone cold' by demi lovato

Loving Spencer Reid isn’t something you fell into quickly, it’s something that grew and grew and grew over years of knowing him and working with him and being friends with him. You love to watch him skim his fingers down pages, his eyes taking in the words faster than anyone else’s could ever hope to. You love to listen to him ramble and you hang on to every word. 

You love him _because_ of who he is and never in spite of it - you wish you were the one he’d call on bad nights when he couldn’t be alone, the one he confided in about his mother’s semi-stable condition. You wish you were the one he trusted with his secrets, the one he took solace in and the one who’d always stand beside him when things get tough.

You became that person and it gave you hope - hope that he felt it too. It inspired you to ask him out, to suggest that things would be even better if you two were a couple - you suggested it because you believed that it was true. 

He seemed unsure, but he accepted. You wrote it off because he’d never really been in a serious relationship before and was a little nervous about breaking the anti-fraternization policy. You wrote it off because he blushed and smiled - he was _happy_ that you asked him, why would he be happy unless he felt the same as you?

…

You know now that he wasn’t _happy_ , really - it’s more accurate to say that he was _flattered_. After years and years of telling himself he would never find a romantic partner who’d ‘put up with his quirks’ (to use his words), it felt good when you - someone who’d seen what he considered to be the undesirable parts of himself - showed interest in him romantically. 

He loves you as a friend, and he mistook it for something more.

… 

He never said it back - there was no _I love you, (y/n)_ or an accidental _love you - bye!_ on the phone or anything like that.

The first time _you_ said it he looked away, the beginnings of a frown pulling at his lips. He opened his mouth and closed it again - you told yourself _he’s just not ready yet._ You told him that too, said _it’s okay if you’re not ready to say it back, I just wanted you to know._

He didn’t correct you, but in the back of your mind you _knew,_ however much you tried to convince yourself otherwise - the real reason he couldn’t say it back was because he didn’t love you the same way you loved him.

And maybe you should have ended it then, should’ve let him go because how could you make him stay knowing you weren’t the one for him (even though he was the right one for you)? 

But you didn’t. You didn’t because you loved him (you still do). You didn’t because you wanted to believe that one day he would love you too. You deluded yourself into thinking _if I just say it enough times, tell him I love him enough times, one day he’ll come around. One day he’ll feel it too._

You think maybe he thought the same thing, thought that if he just kept pretending one day he’d wake up and it would be the truth. He’d wake up wishing you were beside him. He’d want to kiss you good morning and take you on dates and cuddle with you on the couch (and marry you). 

Or maybe he stayed because of the deep-seated fear that he’s unlovable - he’d finally found someone who loved him romantically and unconditionally, and he feared he’d never find it again if he ended it. Or maybe he felt guilty that he didn’t love you back, felt like there was something wrong with him because he couldn’t reciprocate. 

Either way, you hate the thought that you fed into his insecurities, that selfishly staying in a relationship with him made him think those awful, untrue things about himself, so you push it out of your mind - it’s in the past and you can’t change it. And besides, it’s over now. 

He’s happy now. He’s happy because he’s found someone else to love him, and he looks at her in a way you _know_ he never looked at you. 

Spencer’s happy, and you’re still trying to convince yourself that his happiness makes _you_ happy too.


	39. professor reid tries to teach online classes

There are probably more productive things you could be doing with your day, but watching Spencer practically wage war with his laptop while he tries to set up online lessons is honestly one of the highlights of the best things in your life right now. He may be a genius, but…that man is _oh so very_ technologically challenged it’s hysterical - just last week he accidentally sent his entire class the answer key for the midterm (you’re still not sure what exactly he was trying to do…to be honest, it really didn’t seem like _Spencer_ knows either)

He calls you over for help nearly every Zoom lecture with some kind of problem, asking questions about things that are so obvious to you that you can’t imagine why he’s so confused -

_How do I end the presentation?_

_(Ah, you just click ‘end meeting’…?)_

_My students are all saying they can’t hear me!_

_(You muted yourself…)_

_Where did my ‘Zoom’ go!? I bumped my computer and it was suddenly gone!_

_(Um…oh! You accidentally moved it onto a new desktop - watch, it’ll come back if you swipe with three fingers…)_

_Why won’t it let me share my screen?_

_(Oh you have to enable screen recording in your settings…You know what - let me just do it for you…)_

\- it’s gotten to the point where his students all wave to you and jokingly type _Hi (y/n)!_ and _(y/n) came to save the day again!_ in the chat - you trade glances with the ones who have their camera on over Spencer’s shoulder as he squints at his keyboard or his trackpad or his settings panel. 

One day he comes slinking over to you after his lecture is over, lamenting the fact that he has to give his students digital comments on their papers and embarrassed that he - once again - just _cannot_ figure out how to do it. You spend the whole rest of the afternoon painstakingly showing him (he’s lucky you love him…), using your own laptop because he left his on his desk and yours is closer -

_(Ok, so you highlight the part you want to comment on…yeah, good! You just click and drag…then once you have the part selected, you tap with two fingers…)_

_Like this?_

_(No, no! Just tap, don’t swipe…)_

_Um, okay…like this?_

_(Yeah, okay - see how this little panel pops up?)_

_This one?_

_(Exactly! Alright, now click on ‘new comment’ - no, you have to do it without making an extra click in between!)_

_What? I didn’t!_

_(Just try again, you can do this!)_

_Okay…click and drag, double tap -_

_(No, tap with two fingers - not double tap. Try again…)_

_I’ve got this, I’ve got this! Click and drag, tap with two fingers, click on the box - hey, what happened!_

_(You clicked on the wrong thing…)_

\- It’s honestly such a non-occurrence that you completely forget about it until Spencer’s reading his emails on the couch almost two weeks later and he suddenly makes an alarmed noise, startling you and almost making you spill your coffee. 

“Wh-what happened!?” you stutter out, setting your mug down on the coffee table and trying to calm your racing heart.

He just looks between you and his laptop with wide eyes, opening and closing his jaw as he tries to formulate his thoughts, finally settling on, _“B-babygirl…”_

“ _Babygirl_?” you repeat, furrowing your brow and squinting at him as you try to figure out what he could _possibly_ mean.

He just nods back at you and pushes his laptop in your direction, squeaking out “ _Babygirl_!” once again, his voice jumping up at least an octave.

You look down at his laptop and see that he’s pulled up an email titled, you guessed it, “Who’s ‘Babygirl?’” from one of his students - it has a short message at the top, but what really jumps out at you are the screenshots of Spencer’s comments, all in bright pink and from a user named ‘Babygirl.’

You blink down at the screen for what feels like an entire minute before bursting into laughter as Spencer pouts at your side. You manage to stutter out, “How…How did you not _notice_ that!?” between laughs.

He makes a face and exclaims, “I-I don’t know - Garcia set up my laptop for me and she must’ve done it…I-I was just thinking about, you know: click and drag, tap with two fingers -”

You interrupt him with a hug, leaning your face into his chest and almost crying from the strength of your laughter - he’s stiff under your arms for a moment before he relaxes, a chuckle building in his chest as he gets over his embarrassment. 

“How am I gonna explain this to my students? They’ll never believe me…,” he laments once you’ve both calmed down, his lips falling back into a cute little pout.

You press a kiss into his jawline and smile against him, chuckling a little as you reply, “I love you, you idiot” - he smiles back, wrapping his long arms around your waist and forgetting about his emails for the time being.

…

_“You never answered my question…”_

_“…Yeah, your students are never gonna believe you…”_


	40. 'jackie and wilson' by hozier

He comes into the bar one night while you’re tuning your guitar for the last few songs in your set - you pinch your capo on the first fret and plunk at the strings, listening with a trained ear for any dissonance in the chords. 

You meet his eyes as he sits at the bar - waiting for his drink, you presume - and see something somber and tired within him. His eyes bear the glassy flatness of someone who’s struggling with the hand they’ve been dealt in life - you see people with that look all the time, but something draws you to him in particular. 

You can’t stop yourself from glancing over at him as you sing -

_I had a though, dear, however scary_

_About that night, the bugs and the dirt_

_Why were you digging, what did you bury?_

_Before those hands pulled me from the earth*_

\- he peers over at you from his seat at the bar, swirling brandy and drinking in your words, entranced by your fingers as they dance over the strings. You watch him as he tangles his hands together and paws at his eyes and palms over his unkempt hair, the strands thin and brittle and damaged. 

You can’t help but walk over and take the seat beside him once your set is over - from close-up you can see the patchy stubble on his cheeks and the bruises under his eyes, so dark that you think for a second they’re painted on and nearly reach out to wipe them away before you stop yourself. 

He looks over at you, thumbing over the rim of his glass - he’s been sitting here for almost an hour at this point, but it’s still completely full. Of course it’s possible it’s second or third or fourth, but for some reason you get the feeling it isn’t, that it’s the same glass the bartender handed over when he first came in.

“You don’t like brandy?” you ask him.

It takes him a second to process your question - he jolts just slightly, as if he wasn’t expecting you to speak - and when he does he furrows his brow, giving the glass another swirl and watching the amber liquid circle around. When he finally replies his voice is somehow both gravely and soft at the same time, “No, I…I like it, I just…”

He trails off and averts his eyes, a tension building in his jaw as he stares down his drink. You’re just about to jump in and change the subject when he sucks in a breath, worrying at his lip before admitting, “I…I’m not supposed to be drinking,” in a voice so small that you have to strain to hear it over the noise of the bar.

You weren’t expecting it, but you’re not surprised by it either - he doesn’t look like ‘the type,’ what with his cardigan and tie and slacks, but you’re not naive enough to think that addiction can’t pick anyone. You want to send him a reassuring glance, to let him look into your eyes and see that it doesn’t phase you, but he’s still staring down the drink as if he can’t decide whether he wants to give in or not. You know he doesn’t - he ordered it, but still hasn’t taken a sip. He could’ve just told you he didn’t like brandy and moved on, but he didn’t - he told you about his dilemma, almost as if to say _I don’t want to do this, but I’m not sure if I can stop myself._

You slide a hand over to his on the counter, leaning in and waiting until it enters his field of view, fingering over the glass as he swallows and sends a questioning glance in your direction. Eventually he relents, loosening his grip and letting you pull the glass from his hands, closing his eyes and sucking in a sharp breath as if the weight of what he just narrowly avoided is suddenly crashing down on him. 

“Thank you,” he mouths, eyes still clenched shut.

“I’m (y/n),” you reply.

He looks over at you in surprise, chuckling because he doesn’t know what else to do.

“I’m Spencer.”

…

The next time you see him is almost a month later - he comes at the beginning of your set this time, settling himself at the bar and nursing a Sprite, catching your eye over the rim of his glass. Your voice and your guitar echo around the bar, swirling in the ears of its patrons as they drink and throw darts - you tell yourself you’re singing to them all, but really you’re only singing for him.

You end up beside him for a second time, looking him over - he’s shaved and his hair looks a little better, healthier (though no less unkempt). He opens the conversation this time, “You’re…You’re really good, you know.”

A soft blush paints his face as you blink back at him - he clears his throat and tries to hide it with a sip of his drink. “Well, I’ve been practicing for a long time,” you reply, feeling that familiar heat creep up your own cheeks, “Do you play?”

He huffs out a laugh, a smile building in his eyes, “No, no. I mean, I taught myself how to play the piano a few years ago, but…no. No guitar. And I-I’m really not a very good singer.”

“You know that just makes me want to hear you sing, you know?” you chuckle, imagining what his singing voice sounds like.

You talk like that for hours - you learn about classical literature and horror movies and the godchildren he loves so dearly. At the end of the night you lean in and slip your card into his pocket, your breath tickling his ear as you whisper, “In case you ever feel like learning guitar.”

…

Spencer calls you two days later.

(He never does end up learning how to play)

…

You’re laying in bed together one night - you thread your fingers through his hair and bask in the afterglow as he trails a hand up and down your side, resting his now-fluffy head on your chest - when you finally get to hear it. You can feel the vibrations in his chest as he sings, his voice noticeably off-key -

_She blows out of nowhere, roman candle of the wild_

_Laughing away through my feeble disguise_

_No other version of me I would rather to be tonight_

_Lord she found me just in time*_

…

* _lyrics from ‘like real people do’ and ‘jackie and wilson’ by hozier_


	41. spencer has a crush on garcia's friend

When she comes speed walking up to him - all black fabric and high heels - the first thing Spencer does is almost spill his coffee. It takes him approximately eight seconds to realize that she’s asking him a question.

“Hi, so sorry to bother you - I’m friends with Penelope Garcia and I was wondering if you could point out her office for me?”

He just blinks at her for an additional six seconds before stuttering out his reply, “Y-Yeah, it’s - um, it’s right down the hall…,” gesturing in the right direction and growing increasingly flustered, trying to tame the heat creeping up his cheeks. 

She smiles and thanks him as relief paints her features, then turns and hurries away, her heels clack clack clacking on the tile with every step. Spencer stares dumbly down the hall after her, his eyes trailing over her hair, her shoes, her dress, her -

He forces the thought out of his mind, walks back to his desk and pretends he doesn’t notice JJ biting back a grin as he re-seats himself. He just met her - _barely even_ met her - and they talked for like thirty seconds - he doesn’t even know her name! He couldn’t _possibly_ be attracted to her already, _no way._

…

Spencer finds himself keeping an ear out for any mention of her, lingering by Garcia’s office after dropping off files as if she’ll suddenly appear. He makes it almost three weeks before his ‘curiosity’ gets the better of him - he catches Garcia by the coffee machine and blurts out, “Um, a couple weeks ago there was this woman - she said she was your friend? Anyway, she asked me for directions to your office, and I was just wondering who she is?”

She furrows her brow for a second as she tries to think of who he might be referring to - when she finally does, her face brightens with recognition. “Oh! You mean (y/n)! She’s a friend from my DnD group - she left something at my apartment and needed to come pick it up, that’s all.”

Garcia goes back to her coffee thinking that’s that, but Spencer is still hovering by her side, rocking on his heels a little and worrying at his lip. She peers over at him, taking in the blush creeping up his neck - the realization hits her and she grins to herself, sending a knowing offer in his direction.

“You’re welcome to join, you know. If you’re _interested_.”

Spence’s blush deepens as he tries and fails to sputter out a reply - he opens and closes his mouth as he tries to think of something to say that won’t feed Garcia’s (correct) suspicions. 

She just giggles and pats him on the shoulder, calling out, “Fridays at eight - my place!” before walking away, leaving a very flustered Spencer Reid in her wake.

…

He lasts another two Fridays before finally admitting his attraction to himself and giving in - he spends almost an hour futzing with his hair and his outfit before he feels semi-ready, all the while pretending it’s not because he wants to look his best when he meets (y/n) for real. 

Before leaving his apartment, Spencer glances over the stacks of Dungeons and Dragons handbooks and guides he bought on impulse the weekend before and has been spending all his time meticulously reading (and re-reading - he’s never actually played DnD before, more due to not having anyone to play it with rather than lack of interest, and he just wants to make sure he’s fully prepared, alright?). He considers flipping through them one last time before finally heading out the door, but thinks better of it - he risks being late if he stalls any longer.

When he finally knocks on Garcia’s door, (y/n) is the one who opens it - Garcia herself is setting snacks out on the table, trying her best to look like she’s not paying attention. Spencer can already feel the heat in his cheeks as he stutters out a tiny, “H-hello!” and waves before awkwardly bouncing on his feet and tucking his hands into his pockets, giving her a nervous smile as he waits for her reply.

(y/n) just smiles back, the warmth clear in her eyes as she giggles, “I was wondering when you’d show up,” and ushers him into Garcia’s apartment.


	42. reader thinks spencer looks extra kissable

You’re trying your best to focus on the case (you really are!) but Spencer just looks so _perfectly adorable_ today with his messy hair and crooked tie and soft cardigan. He’s currently squinting at a map of the area and rolling a colored pen between two fingers - he has a few more wedged in between the fingers of his other hand, ready for quick access as he works on the geographic profile. 

You rise to your feet with the intention of refilling your coffee but Spencer hears your chair scrape against the floor and turns around, his hair falling into his face for a moment before he brushes it away with clumsy hands. He just looks so…so _kissable_ that you just can’t help yourself - you bite back a grin and pad over to him, quickly glancing around the room to double check that it’s empty before leaning in and pressing a chaste kiss to his lips.

He blinks back at you in surprise as his cheeks start to grow pink, his lips tugging upwards into a dopey smile for just a second before he remembers his surroundings and shakes himself out of it. “That’s the _third_ time you’ve kissed me today,” he says, furrowing his brow as he glances down at his watch, “And it’s only 2pm - that’s almost 2.5 more times than the average work day!”

Now it’s your turn to blush, the heat building in your cheeks as you try to come up with a response - you finally manage to stutter out, “W-well, I…I just, um - you look cute today, okay? And I-I just -”

He cuts you off with another kiss, his pens brushing against your jaw as he cups your face with his hands. You close your eyes as he pulls you closer, smiling against your lips as you thread your fingers through his hair -

The door swings open and Hotch strides through - you and Spencer jolt apart half a second too late, eyes wide like a deer in the headlights as you try to subtly readjust your clothing and fix your hair. The two of you try not to squirm under his scrutiny as he stares you down, glancing between you both with knowing skepticism, letting out a pointed sigh but not saying anything else. 

He settles his gaze on Spencer, his voice stern as he asks, “Have you gotten anywhere with the geographic profile?”

Spencer swallows nervously, looking frantically between you and Hotch - you try your best to give him an encouraging look, but you’re just as flustered as he is - eventually managing to collect himself enough to say, “Um, well I…I’ve managed to narrow down his comfort zone to this general area…,” his confidence growing as he settles back into his usual rhythm.

…

_“So I heard you two were getting busy in the precinct yesterday.”_

_“W-what!?”_

_“Nonono, that-that’s not true at all -”_

_“Mmhm, sure it’s not.”_

_“Morgan!”_


	43. reid and reader have the same satchel

Having the same bag as one of your coworkers is something that you’ve always considered amusing - you and Dr. Reid laughed about it when you first joined the BAU and still make jokes about it every once in a while, but that’s all. And yes - Reid is a little scatterbrained some (most) of the time, but he almost never leaves his satchel unattended. It really never even occurred to you that _this_ might one day happen.

 _This_ being the fact that you’ve just arrived home from a case to find that the satchel in your possession isn’t actually _yours_ \- honestly you’re surprised it took you this long to notice because the straps are adjusted completely differently to how you do your own. You pull it shut in frustration, patting down your pockets and finding that you left your keys in your jacket pocket and not in your bag, so at least you can still get inside your apartment.

Anyway, you make your way in and set not-your-satchel down on the couch, resolving to just leave it there until you can give it back to Reid in the morning - as you do the main flap shifts just slightly, giving you a second glimpse into what lays inside, further tickling your curiosity until -

 _No!_ you think, _I will not invade Reid’s privacy like that. I just won’t!_ Instead, you force yourself to walk towards the kitchen, hoping that eating dinner will be enough to distract you. But you find yourself returning to the couch afterwards, switching on the TV and pretending to watch it while you inch your hand closer and closer to Reid’s bag.

It looks and feels just like your own (other than the adjustment of the straps) and you take a moment to futz with the buckles before gently pulling it open…

…

Spencer realizes he has the wrong satchel as soon as he seats himself on the Metro and tries to pull out a book - the organization of the bag is completely foreign and it takes him completely by surprise at first. He stares down at the content of the bag, squinting his eyes and furrowing his brow as he thinks _where did my book go…?_ before coming to the sudden realization that the bag in his possession is actual (y/n)’s, not his.

He pulls it shut as quickly as he can, embarrassed about looking at someone else’s things even though he didn’t do it on purpose, trying to blink away the afterimage of what he saw. He manages to push down the curiosity _begging_ him to take another look until he makes it home - Spencer impatiently waits for the landlord to unlock his apartment for him, thanking her profusely before hurrying inside and sitting down at his desk with not-his-satchel in front of him.

He lasts exactly thirty-seven seconds before reaching over to undo the clasps, tentatively lifting the flap to the main pocket and resting his eyes upon the contents…

…

_Is that…?_

_Does he…?_

_Wait a second…if I found this in his bag…does that mean he found my…?_

_…!!!_

_Oh god, I really hope (y/n) didn’t find_ that thing!

 _Oh god, I really hope Reid didn’t find_ that thing!

…

You arrive at work the next morning to find your satchel placed neatly on your desk - you push down the urge to immediately open it and check for any disturbances, walking nonchalantly over to Reid’s desk and handing his own satchel over without a word. He instinctively closes his hands around it, pulling it close to his body and blinking owlishly up at you.

You pretend not to notice the heat building in your cheeks, giving him a curt nod and a smile that’s really more of a grimace - you decide that _it’s fine_ because he’s making the exact same half-embarrassed-half-pained expression as you are. Before he has the chance to say anything, you march straight back to your own desk, pointedly ignoring your satchel until you settle yourself.

You force yourself to complete a few reports before giving in a look inside - it looks almost perfect, but there are a few minute differences that key you in to the fact that Spencer definitely had a look inside. Honestly, it makes you feel better that at least the snooping was mutual. 

… 

Reid corners you by the coffee machine a few hours later, glancing around the break room to make sure you two are alone before lowering his voice and asking, “So we’re not gonna talk about the…”

You take a deep breath, keeping your gaze locked on your coffee as you reply, “Spencer. Be honest - do you _really_ want to talk about that with me?”

“No!” he yelps, his voice jumping up an octave or town, “No, um - not at all, actually.”

“Then we’re good,” you say, turning to face him and trying your best to tame the blush rising up your cheeks, “You didn’t see anything, I didn’t see anything - none of this ever happened.”

“Y-you do know that I have an eidetic memory, right?” Spencer blurts out, worrying at his lip immediately after it comes out and grimacing at the implication of his own words. 

“I-I’m just saying,” he continues when you just blink at him, “I’m not gonna be forgetting about this anytime soon…uh, _ever_ , really…”

Yeah, I am very aware of that fact, you think, choking down embarrassment as you respond, “Spencer Reid, I swear to god - if you don’t at least _pretend_ to not remember…”

“Okay, okay I get it - I will!” he readily agrees, nodding his head somewhat frantically, tangling his hands together as he tentatively asks, “Um, you-you’re not gonna tell anyone about my um… _you know what_ , right?”

You nod curtly, the picture of genuine seriousness as you meet his eyes, “My lips are sealed as long as yours are.”

“Great,” he nods again, repeating the word to himself a few times before awkwardly turning and walking back out into the bullpen, absentmindedly leaving his fresh cup of coffee behind. 

You stare down at it and think, _Honestly, I should have expected this to happen at some point…_


	44. reader is a violinist

When you find out that one of the violinists from the National Symphony Orchestra is retiring this year and therefore auditions are being held to fill the impending vacancy, your heart practically jumps out of your chest - playing in the NSO has been your dream job since you were a child, and you’ll be damned if you let this opportunity pass you by.

You prepare your resume with painstaking care, double-triple-quadruple checking it (and asking Spencer to read over it just as many times) before sending it in and hoping that you’ll be given the chance to actually audition. Then come the hours and hours (and hours) of practicing the listed repertoire - you’ve played most of the pieces before, be it for music school or prior auditions or concerts, and you feel (mostly) confident in your ability, especially given that you still have a few months left to practice. You spend as much time as you possibly can with your violin, even begrudgingly switching to your electric one when it’s too late to play without bothering the neighbors. 

Spencer plays accompaniment for you on his keyboard when you get stuck in a rut, saying _play ‘The Merry Go Round of Life*’ with me_ because it’s one of your favorites - yes, you need to be practicing for your audition, but sometimes it’s nice to just play for fun. And you can’t help but smile as Spencer hums along, his voice perfectly off-key and his enthusiasm for both you and your playing blatantly obvious.

When you receive the notification that you’ve been selected to audition, you don’t know whether to feel relieved or anxious - you didn’t think it was possible, but you practice nearly twice as hard during those last few weeks. Spencer’s with you all the way as much as he can be, massaging your shoulder when they grow sore, bringing you snacks when you get stuck on one passage for hours and forget about the time that’s passing, showing his unconditional love for you when he holds you as you sleep.

The day finally comes for your audition and you walk into the auditorium with adrenaline coursing through your system - Spencer can’t come in with you, but he’s waiting dutifully out in the main hall, and will no doubt be straining his ears as he tries to listen for your performance. You warm up with the other candidates as you wait for the auditions to begin, making sure your violin is perfectly tuned and your bow is coated with the correct amount of rosin. 

Before you know it, you’re being called - you step onto the stage and take a deep breath, positioning your violin between your chin and your shoulder, letting the first few notes reverberate through the space and hoping they are received well by the committee.

…

The next thing you know, you’re being told you’ve been selected as the final candidate - that you’re being given the opportunity to play with the orchestra for a week, after which the committee will decide if they want to keep you or not. You thank them, then walk out of the auditorium in a daze and let Spencer lead you home. He sits you down on the couch and presses a warm cup of tea into your hands, giving you a sympathetic look and saying, “You know, _I_ think you’re amazing. And it’s probably not what you want to hear right now, but there will be other opportunities in the future -”

 _Wait what?_ you think, furrowing your brow and turning to face him. “Huh?” you blurt out, “I didn’t get rejected.”

“Huh?” Spencer repeats, blinking owlishly at you as he tries to understand what you’re saying, “B-but I thought, but you were so…uhh…”

“They picked me for the trail week. That means I’m the final candidate,” you state - as the words come out, you start to finally process what that means. You and Spencer blink at each other, eyes widening and jaws dropping open -

“Oh my god, I’m the final candidate!” you beam, “I get to play with the National Symphony Orchestra next week, oh my god!”

And Spencer pulls you into a hug, the both of you laughing joyfully and repeating the words over and over - you tug Spencer to his feet and sit him down in front of the keyboard, carefully taking out your violin and starting to play…

…

 _Months and months later, Spencer gets to see you perform with the NSO in concert for the first time - he beams at you the whole time and sets a huge bouquet of flowers into your arms once the concert is over, kissing you softly and letting his breath tickle your lips as he mumbles, “That was perfect._ You _were perfect.”_

_And you smile._


	45. 'oh you know, because i love him'

There are things about Spencer that annoy you: His sock drawer is always a complete mess. There are always at least five half-empty coffee mugs left around the apartment at any given time because he has a tendency to get caught up in whatever he’s doing and forget about them. He is _such_ a hoverer. He’s _very_ particular about a multitude of things. He tends to talk over movies (and point out plot holes and inaccuracies you would have completely ignored otherwise and _god, now I can’t stop thinking about it!_ )

There are other things about him that just are what they are - namely, the lifetime of trauma and abandonment issues that he’s still working to process and learn to live with (and the fact that he’s not always the most emotionally available person because of it). He’s still learning to let you in even after years of knowing each other and sometimes it’s frustrating, but you’ve learned that he really is trying his best.

You and Spencer fight sometimes, though you never have the huge blowouts you see on TV - you don’t always agree, and neither of you can always be rational in the heat of the moment. But you always talk it out after a good night’s sleep.

On the other hand, there are things about Spencer that make you feel warm: He wears mismatched socks every day for good luck. He smiles when you tease him about putting so much sugar in his coffee, and you can’t help but smile in return. He’s so interested in so many things - there’s never a boring moment when you’re dating Spencer Reid. He’s so empathetic and sweet and kind - he always means well, even though he sometimes does the ‘wrong’ thing. You never want him to stop talking, not only because you love the sound of his voice, but because you want to hear what he has to say.

Loving someone isn’t about being perfect. It’s about having someone in your corner and standing in theirs in return. It’s about being there for each other and laughing together and joking about each other’s quirks. Sometimes loving someone is simply existing in the same moment and breathing the same air.

You love Spencer Reid even when he makes you angry. You love him when he drops your favorite bowl and it shatters against the tile floor. You love him when he needs you to stay up all night, comforting him and making sure he doesn’t do something he’ll regret. You love him when he says the wrong thing and when he misreads the situation and when he just _doesn’t understand._

You don’t need a reason to love him, but you have too many to list. He’s your one, he’s _your person_ and you’re his. Nothing more needs to be said.


	46. reader recognizes reid's touch while asleep

Spencer’s reading on the jet when he feels a familiar weight drop onto his shoulder - he instinctively glances over and sees your head resting against him, your hair tickling his cheek and your breath coming in soft puffs against his neck. He reaches up to brush your hair out of your face, thumbing over your chin and grinning when you mutter something unintelligible and nestle closer into his side. He leans down to press his forehead against yours, letting his own eyes flutter shut as he sighs into you, the residual tension from the case melting away as he soaks in your warmth.

JJ chuckles from across the table, biting back a grin as Spencer’s eyes snap back open and an embarrassed flush paints his ears and cheeks. You grumble at the sudden movement, pouting a little but remaining blissfully asleep - Spencer instinctively wraps an arm around you as your head starts to fall from his shoulder, pressing a kiss into the crown of your head and -

JJ chuckles again, this time nudging Morgan beside her and drawing his attention away from his music. Spencer buries his face in your hair as Morgan turns to look, making a futile attempt to hide from the teasing he knows is coming in _three two one…_

“Looks like you lovebirds are having fun,” he says with a smirk, wiggling his eyebrows as Spencer peeks at him through your hair. 

Spencer’s blush deepens and he squirms in his seat, wishing you were awake to share in his embarrassment, but unwilling to actually wake you up. As if you can sense his unease, you let out a little contented hum, your lips so close that the vibration tickle his neck - it immediately calms him, giving him the confidence to glare at Morgan with exaggerated irritation, smirking a little when JJ playfully slaps his arm.

They sit there giggling (with Spencer biting back a grin and huffing in the background) for a few minutes until Morgan pushes himself to his feet, asking, “I’m gonna go get a coffee - you guys want anything?”

Spencer shakes his head and JJ answers with a quick, “I’m good - thanks for asking, though,” so Morgan starts down the aisle, patting your shoulder as he passes by -

You duck away from his hand, leaning closer into Spencer’s side as your lips pull together into a disgruntled pout, muttering nonsense as you settle back down. Morgan furrows his brow, squinting down at you and reaching over to give you a poke -

You duck away again, batting his hand away this time. Morgan snorts to himself, glancing between his hand and your shoulder with a smirk and a single raised eyebrow. He reaches over to poke you a second time, itching to test his new discovery out -

Spencer bats his hand away this time, hissing out a sharp “Stop that!” and wrapping both arms around you, scooting closer to the window and dragging you with him, brushing gentle hands over your face and making sure you’re still asleep. Morgan raises his hands in a placating manor, chuckling to himself as he turns and saunters towards the jet’s tiny coffee station. Spencer frowns at him as he walks away, hugging you close and running his hands up and down your back as he peers suspiciously at Morgan over the seats.

You soak in the warmth of Spencer’s chest and the softness of his cardigan, oblivious to it all as you slumber on.


	47. spencer's voice calms reader down

You come home after a _terrible horrible awful_ day at work to an empty apartment and nearly break down right then and there - Spencer almost never gets home before you, but you were still hoping that by some miracle today he would already be here, ready to comfort you. 

As it is, you’re alone. You’re alone and it takes all the energy you have left in you to drag yourself over to the couch, dropping your things along the way and slumping down into the cushions. It’s comforting for a half-second to finally sit down somewhere comfortable and familiar, but then you realize how dark and empty and silent it is (except for the persistent _tick tock tick tock_ of the analog clock Spencer insisted upon buying a few months ago) - you closed the curtains this morning in an attempt to keep the apartment cool as summer approaches, and in this moment you’ve never regretted anything more.

You know that all you need to do to fix that problem is to get up and open the curtains, but you just _can’t_ make yourself heave your exhausted body up off of the couch. You start feeling around for the television remote instead, hoping maybe having some background chatter will help, but to no avail. When you can’t find it after a few minutes you start looking around instead and _ah, there it is_ \- it’s lined up right next to the remote for the DVD player all the way across the room, painfully out of reach and therefore completely inaccessible to you right now. 

And so you clench your eyes shut and wrap your arms around your middle, digging your fingernails into your biceps and waiting the _thirty forty fifty_ minutes until Spencer gets back home, hearing nothing but the constant _tick tock tick tock_ of the clock in the corner and wishing it would just _shut up_ and stop taunting you -

Spencer wraps his arms around you, gently pulling you into his chest and rocking you softly back and forth, cradling your head in his hands and running his fingers through your hair and down your back. You bury your face in his neck, letting out shaky breaths as your eyes finally start to water. “It’s okay,” he says, his voice rumbling low in his chest, “I’m here, I’m here.”

You don’t respond, _can’t_ respond except to sink deeper into him, desperately clutching at the soft fabric of his cardigan as your breath starts to hitch with sobs. He just keeps talking talking talking, telling you _today was a paperwork day, so things were pretty quiet_ and _JJ told me Henry did really well on that science project I helped him with last week, I’m so proud of him!_ and -

He starts chattering about whales and black holes and networks of mushrooms, rambling on and on, his voice filling the apartment with the most perfect type of noise. And as he talks, you can feel your heart rate slowing back down, your breaths growing steady, the _terrible horrible awfulness_ of the day finally starting to fade away. You sigh into him, resting your head on his chest and feeling the soft vibrations of his voice as he chatters away, letting his words wash over you and relaxing into the gentle calmness they bring.


	48. spencer's s/o tells him he's going home after prison

You’ve driven to Millburn Correctional Facility many times over the course of the past few months (though not since Spencer started refusing visitors a few weeks ago), but this time feels different. And it’s not just because someone else is behind the wheel this time - it feels different because you know it’s the _last time_ , you know you won’t be leaving alone -

 _You wish you could touch him, that you could reach over the barrier and just brush your hands over his for a_ split-second _without risking him getting in trouble. But the guards are watching over you (watching over_ him _, is more accurate), looming tall and broad with tasers and guns and billy-clubs. He flinches away when you press your hands to the glass, glances over at the paint on the walls screaming ‘NO TOUCHING’ in all caps - it hurts so much to see him like this. To see him so scared and in so much pain, and be completely powerless to do anything about it except hope desperately for the team to finally_ finally _make a break in the case._

 _It hurts even more to say goodbye, to watch the guards line up all the inmates and drag Spencer along with them, leading them all away and locking them into man-sized cages. Spencer has no choice but to obey, to submit to the will of the so-called ‘justice system’ that the both of you are doubting more and more the longer he remains behind bars. You have no choice but to obey, either - you have to walk out of here when visiting hours are over without Spencer by your side. You have to go home to an empty apartment and try to sleep knowing how scared he is, knowing that you’re safe at home while he’s_ scared for his life _in prison_

\- It’s a little bittersweet because his mom has been kidnapped, but still. You’re taking him home and at long last there won’t be glass or steel bars or _anything_ separating you. There won’t be a guard scrutinizing your every move, shouting _No touching!_ every time you get too close. You’ll be able to kiss him and hug him and fall asleep with him next to you and…and just _hold his hand_ for fuck’s sake! 

_Holding his hand_ is one of the things you’ve missed the most.

…

There’s a wordless, unanimous agreement that you’ll be the one to go inside and get him - the gates buzz open and you take in a deep, shaky breath before steeling yourself and pushing through. You force patience as they check you for contraband because you can’t risk anything going wrong when you’re _so close_ to getting him out, then follow in a daze as a guard leads you down the bleak gray halls. The windows are barred over and your heart aches as you imagine how that must have felt for Spencer - every glimpse he had of outside over the past _three months_ was tainted by steel bars and fences and guard towers and barbed wire. Everything from the windows to the plastic sporks to the exposed toilet in his cell must’ve been an inescapable reminder of where he was and the fact that he was trapped there -

The guard stops abruptly, muttering “Here he is” in a gruff voice and reaching for a key on his belt. You have a moment to examine the thick steel door and the foggy glass and the powerful locks before the door is swinging open. The door is swinging open and you’re stepping inside and -

Spencer stares at you like he’s not sure what he’s seeing, like he’s not sure if you’re _real_. You see the bandage on his arm and it makes you want to cry because you know he had to _stab himself_ just to get some semblance of protection - you push the thought aside for now because you already want to cry for an entirely different reason. You want to cry because Spencer’s _here_ and -

You practically run over to him because you know he’s too scared, too uncertain to make the first move this time. His chest is warm against yours, his scruff is rough against your cheeks, his hands are a trembling comfort against your back. “You’re coming home. We’re taking you home,” you whisper, tangling your hands through his now-brittle hair as you sway him gently side to side.

His breath hitches as if he didn’t quite believe it until right then (you know he probably didn’t). “You’re coming home,” you repeat, the words thick and wet as you try to hold back tears, not knowing how much (or how little) he can handle right now. 

And then he starts to sob, burying his face in your neck as he grips onto you, his hands fisting at your shirt, practically _clawing_ at your waist as if he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go. He chokes it down after a few short minutes, pulling back and pawing at his eyes and he blinks back the rest of his tears - he’s closing himself off right in front of you and you _hate it._ You _hate it_ , but you also know him - this is the most vulnerability you can realistically expect from him until his mom is safe too.

His breath is shaky as he exhales. He closes his eyes for a second before snapping them open, a fiery darkness beneath that almost scares you with its intensity - it’s not a look you’ve ever seen in his eyes before and you’re not sure if it’s because prison changed him or because his mom is missing or a combination of the two.

“Let’s go,” he says, his voice rough with tears (and a new gravely bite you don’t want to think about right now). 

You just nod in response and he takes your hand in his. He takes your hand in his and it’s a little rougher than you remember, a little less steady. It fits perfectly in yours all the same. 


	49. spooky season movie night with spencer

Spencer pulls the living room curtains closed as you light the last few candles, placing them anywhere you can make room and then shutting off the lights and grinning at the eerie glow. The entire apartment is adorned with cobwebs and plastic spiders and rubber rats and skeletons (Spencer _insists_ they’re plastic, but you have your doubts…) There are almost as many bowls of candy as there are candles - and there are _a lot_ of candles. 

Just then, Spencer sneaks up behind you and grabs your shoulders, shouting “BOO!” in a goofy voice - you whirl around with a gasp, playfully slapping him on the arm once you manage to catch your breath. “Spencer!” you chide, your heart still racing and your cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

He just giggles and drags you over to the couch, half tripping over the ends of the full-on Sherlock Holmes costume he _insisted_ upon wearing even though the two of you are staying in tonight. He pulls a blanket over the both of you, a complete mess of bunched-up fabric with his slacks and overcoat and long scarf. You tuck yourself into his side, chuckling when he pulls his legs up onto the couch and wiggles his mismatched-socked toes, then starts futzing with the TV remote.

After struggling with it for a few (amusing) minutes, he finally manages to get the movie to start playing - he’s practically vibrating with excitement as the previews start to roll (you’ve mentioned to him _numerous_ times that you can just fast forward through them, but he insists upon watching them anyway because _it’s part of the experience, (y/n)! You can’t just skip the previews, that would be cheating!)_

Completely enraptured by the film, Spencer absentmindedly reaches over towards the bowl of candy on the coffee table - you watch with a smile and bated breath as his hand inches closer and closer, waiting until -

“AH!” Spencer exclaims, practically leaping a foot into the air as the motion-activated plastic skeleton hand descends upon his own - Spencer’s the one who bought the trick bowl in the first place, but he somehow manages to _always_ get startled anyway and it’s _always_ adorable. 

He cautiously grabs a handful of candy and pulls it out of the bowl, looking suspiciously at the skeleton hand the entire time as if he couldn’t perfectly recite exactly how the contraption works. You can’t help but giggle and steal a sweet - he pouts at you in response and it only makes you giggle more, coyly turning back to the movie as he grumbles to himself. He unwraps a lollipop and sticks it in his mouth, leaning his head on your shoulder and fidgeting under the blanket as tense music starts emanating from the speakers.

The both of you squint at the TV screen, trying to figure out where and when the jump scare is going to happen -

“AH!” you both jump, instinctively wrapping your arms around each other and jolting in unison as some kind of zombie? (or maybe a ghoul? Or an evil spirit?) pops up out of nowhere and starts chasing one of the characters around as his flashlight flickers off (because _of course_ it does) and he regrets ever thinking that splitting up was a good idea.

Spencer reaches for the candy a second time and gets startled again - this time, he lets out a garbled “Eugh!” noise and reflexively tosses his handful of candy in the air, falling over as he gets caught in a tangle of blanket and overcoat and long limbs. A starburst hits your cheek and then falls into your lap. You glance up and see Spencer frozen in an awkward position and looking at you with pleading eyes as he unsuccessfully tries to free himself, then glance down at the starburst and notice that it’s pink flavored, then glance up at Spencer once again. 

And then you start laughing all of the sudden, unwrapping the starburst and shoving it in your mouth before taking pity on Spencer and pulling him free of his tangle of assorted fabrics. “Oops,” he says with a flush in his cheeks, and it makes you grin. Spooky season is _always_ better with Spencer.


	50. 'happier' by ed sheeran

_I’m so sorry (y/n), but we…we can’t keep doing this. You know that, right?_

_What…what do you mean?_

_(y/n), you…you know_ exactly _what I mean. This relationship just isn’t healthy anymore - breaking up is gonna be better for both of us, I promise -_

 _Better for_ you _, maybe, but what about me, huh? You…you can’t just decide this for the both of us!_ I love you _, Spencer -_

_…(y/n), I -_

_No. No, stop. Just…just stop -_

_I think you need to hear me say it -_

_You don’t know what the fuck I need! Just shut up. Shut up! I-I love you, Spencer, and that can’t all be for nothing, okay? We’ve been together for almost_ two years _, and I know I’m not the only one who feels this way, I_ know _it -_

_I, um…I-_

_Spencer…don’t do this. Please, please don’t do this…_

_(y/n), I’m so sorry but I…I-I’m not in love with you anymore_

… 

He comes into work one day with a huge smile painted across his face, staring down at his phone and nearly walking into a few agents in his absent-mindedness as he stumbles towards his desk. And you can’t help but watch him even though you know you shouldn’t, can’t help but think about how he used to smile like that for you. Can’t help but remember how he used to bring you coffee in the mornings, how he used to sit next to you on the jet and run his gentle fingers through your hair as you leaned your head down on his shoulder.

Spencer tucks his phone away as he settles into his desk for work, pulling out stacks and stacks of files and flipping through them with a speed that never ceases to amaze you. And there he is, working through files just like he always does - it’s so normal you can almost pretend that everything is just like it was before, like it was _before_ -

Spencer pauses and lifts a hand to his pocket, tracing the outline of his phone through the fabric of his slacks with that dopey lovesick grin - you used to love it when he would look up from his paperwork and smile at _you_ like that, when his face would light up every time he saw you. And he still looks so beautiful when he’s smiling like that, he looks so happy that you can almost pretend you are too. But then you remember.

That smile means he’s found someone new. It means that he’s starting to move on if he hasn’t already. It means you can no longer pretend that he was lying when he said he didn’t love you.

…

Spencer doesn’t tell anyone at first, but all of you know anyway. He’s…he’s not good at hiding it, just like he wasn’t when it was you - he loves so deeply, you of all people would know that. And maybe one day you’ll feel grateful that you got to experience his love, but right now it hurts so much that you had it and lost it - it hurts so much that you almost wish you never had it at all.

You’re angry at him for moving on. You’re angry at him because _how could he move on so quickly? Did I really mean that little to him? And it’s not fair that I’m hurting and he isn’t, that he doesn’t feel like his heart has been torn out of his chest -_

Spencer notices your anger and doesn’t blame you for it, purposefully doesn’t gush about whoever he’s been seeing despite how much you know he wants to - somehow his sympathy makes it hurt more. He’s such a good person - his new significant other obviously makes him happy, and how could you ever want him to be anything but happy? You knew he wasn’t happy by the end of your time together, it was so _obvious_ that he wasn’t happy anymore. How could you be so _selfish_ and ask him to stay anyway. How is he not angry at you for not letting him go sooner?

He still cares about you even though he’s not in love with you anymore - that’s why he’s doing everything he can to make his moving on less painful for you. And you wish you were ready to be happy for him, you wish for that so much because he deserves all the happiness in the world after everything he’s been through. He deserves to be with someone he’s in love with - no matter how much you wish things were different, that person hasn’t been you for a long time. Hasn’t bene you for _months_ before he even started _thinking_ about breaking things off with you, if you’re being completely honest.

… 

Spencer takes a call on the way back from a case one night - he tries his best to keep his voice down, but there’s only so much he can do in such a confined space. 

_We’re heading back now_ , he says with a smile in his voice, _No…no of course I didn’t forget! I should be back home in about…one-hundred-and-thirteen minutes or so? Yeah, that’d be great. Okay, see you soon. I love you too -_

And then it’s like your brain starts short-circuiting, like it doesn’t know how to process hearing him say that to someone who isn’t you - you almost didn’t believe it until now, didn’t let the truth sink in all the way. Now it’s like it’s all crashing down on you at once - he really is seeing someone, and it sounds like things are pretty serious. He really, _truly_ isn’t in love with you anymore - you thought you had accepted that, but…but you haven’t. Some part of you was still holding out hope that he’d come running back with a grand gesture like you see in the movies as if life was some kind of cliche.

You’re not gonna get a movie moment and you know it - you can hear the love in his voice when he talks to them, can see the look on his face as he smiles down at his phone. 

JJ reaches across the table and takes one of your hands in both of hers, giving you a sad smile as she says, “One day, it won’t hurt as much as it does right now.”

And then you finally start to cry, turning your face away from the aisle so that Spencer can’t see even though he isn’t looking. “I still love him,” you tell her, “I don’t want to move on.”

“I know,” she says, “And you never have to stop loving him, but you do have to move on. Maybe not now, but one day.”

And you just nod because you know that she’s right - Spencer’s moved on, and maybe it’s time that you do too.


	51. 'enchanted' by taylor swift + rossi's daughter!reader

Spencer sees her for the first time during the annual FBI award ceremony. It’s a Saturday night and he’d really rather be at home curled up on the couch with his new copy of _Fahrenheit 451_ , but alas - he wormed his way out of coming last year and his teammates weren’t about to let him get away with it a second time. 

It’s only been about thirty minutes and he’s already exhausted - the crowd of people is only getting larger and the hum of conversation along with it. His blazer is too loose around the shoulders and his slacks are too short around the ankles - he’s wearing a soft cardigan underneath and despite how much he loves it, it still feels like everyone else is so much better dressed that he is. Hotch and Emily are the only other members of his team who have arrived thus far, and they’re both too preoccupied with playing nice with the higher-ups to notice Spencer standing alone in the corner. 

He awkwardly stands there and fiddles with his shirt cuffs for a while, growing increasingly anxious as more and more time passes without another familiar face appearing in the crowd. _That’s what I get for letting Garcia talk me into this_ , he thinks to himself, _Half-an-hour since the banquet started and she’s still not here yet!_

His mouth starts to feel dry as he stands alone and rocks on his heels so he makes the decision to venture out into the crowd in search of a glass of water, taking a deep breath to steady himself before he goes. The catering tables are easy enough to find, and there’s a big jug of ice water with a spout at the bottom and lemon slices floating on the top. Spencer’s hands are shaking a little as he reaches for one of the clear plastic cups, holding it under the spout and watching the water line slowly creep up and up and up. He gulps the whole cup down right there then goes to fill it a second time, flinching when some of the cold water splashes onto his hands and -

“Thirsty much?” someone says from behind him. 

Spencer jolts upright at the sound, just narrowly avoiding spilling the entire cup of water all over himself as he spins around and sputters, “W-I, uhhh…I-I just, well, you know -”

“Relax, Bow tie,” the person - a woman - says, “I’m just messin’ with ya.”

“Bow tie?” Spencer replies, tilting his head to the side and furrowing his brow as he tries to figure out what she could possibly be referring to.

She just giggles and bites back a grin, gesturing toward his neck and she says, “Yeah. You know, because…”

He squints at her and brings a hand up to his neck on instinct, feeling around his collar until his fingers brush up against the silky fabric of his tie, tracing around the knot until -

“Oh!” he exclaims, letting out a nervous chuckle, “I…forgot I was wearing this…”

She takes a step closer and brings a hand up to meet his, thumbing over his palm as he blushes at the close proximity. “Don’t worry,” she whispers, “I think it’s cute.”

And then she steps back for a moment and he has a chance to really look at her, to take in the soft part of her hair and the way her silvery dress glimmers when it catches the light. His jaw drops a little as he lets his eyes glide over her, too awestruck to remember that she can definitely see him doing it. She giggles and twirls around in a circle, letting the fabric of her long dress fan out around her and smiling as he watches it settle in a daze.

She leans in again and grins at his shaky exhale, letting her voice drop low as she says, “Like what you see, Bow tie?”

Spencer eyes widen as he starts to process her words, his blush deepening with flustered embarrassment as he stutters, “I-I…”

“What’s your name?” she inquires, her breath ghosting across his cheek as he turns to face her.

“Spencer,” he replies without a second thought, too enamored with her perfume to think about anything else.

And then she’s the one jolting upright, her eyebrows creeping up towards her hairline as she says, “Spencer…like Spencer Reid? You’re Dr. Spencer Reid of the BAU?”

“Yeah, that’s me,” he replies as puzzled expression overtakes his face, “How did you -”

“(y/n)!” a familiar voice comes booming in from the left, “I was wondering where you ran off to!”

She gives Spencer a little bit of a sheepish look as David Rossi pulls her into a hug, leaving a protective hand on her shoulder as he pulls away. Spencer just stands there awkwardly and contemplates melting into the floor, rocking on his heels as his brain sends his body mixed signals - r _un away! No, don’t! If you just stay still, maybe he won’t notice you…_

Rossi’s face lights up when he sees Spencer, a warm smile overtaking his features as he says, “Spencer - I see you’ve met my daughter!”

“Y-your _daughter!”_ Spencer exclaims before he can stop himself, “Uhhh…Yeah it was, um, it was n-nice to meet her too. Yeah, yeah…”

Rossi - _David_ Rossi - just gives him a funny look as Spencer blushes and fiddles with his bow tie, blushing more when he remembers (y/n) saying _Don’t worry, I think it’s cute._ Rossi’s just opening his mouth to say something (and Spencer is about five seconds from spontaneously combusting) when he sees JJ walking into the banquet hall, her blonde head appearing like a godsend in the sea of people.

“JJ!” he yelps, almost starting to run towards her before remembering the two people in front of him and stopping himself, “Um - JJ, she’s uhhh…she just got here and I, um, I promised I’d meet her so uhhhhh…I’m just gonna go, okay bye!”

And then he speed-walks away, almost tripping over his feet in his haste to escape, leaving one very confused David Rossi and one somewhat sheepish (y/n) Rossi behind him.

 _Ohmygod!_ Spencer thinks to himself, _I just checked out Rossi’s daughter!_

…

Spencer stumbles into work on Monday morning and sinks down in front of his desk, keeping a nervous eye on Rossi’s office and jumping every time someone gets too close. Rossi lets him stew for the entire day, smiling at him when they run into each other in the break room and chatting idly with Spencer when he goes to deliver a few stacks of finished files. 

It’s nearing 5pm and Spencer’s just about to burst from the anticipation when Rossi appears next to him, smirking down at him as he writes something in his notebook, tearing it out and pressing it into Spencer’s sweaty hands once he’s finished. Spencer looks down at the paper and memorizes the ten digit number before he can even process what it says, then squints up at Rossi as he tries to figure out what he’s just been given -

“That’s (y/n) number,” he says as he points toward the paper, “She can’t stop talking about ‘that cute agent with the bow tie.’”

Spencer squeaks in response, a blush creeping up his neck as he clears his throat and sputters, “Well I-I, uhh…”

“Now,” Rossi leans in, hovering over Spencer and dropping his voice, “Don’t think for one second that I didn’t see you checking out my daughter - I think you’re a good guy Dr. Reid, that’s why I’m giving you her number, but if I find out that you hurt my bambina in any way? Well…”

Rossi just makes a pointed gesture with his eyebrows - Spencer squeaks a second time and stutters out, “I-I won’t - I won’t, I promise! I-I mean I would never…I could never!”

“Ah, I know you wouldn’t - I’m just giving you a hard time,” Rossi chuckles, immediately drawing back and smiling down at Spencer, “Give her a call as soon as you get home - take it from me, she’ll be _very_ happy to hear from you.”

And then Rossi turns on his heels and saunters back to his office, leaving Spencer to gaping behind him. He looks down at the paper in his hands and thumbs over the numbers, mouthing along as he reads them to himself even though he already has them memorized. 

…

_Hi! Is this, um, is this (y/n) Rossi?_

_Yeah that’s me, to whom do I owe the pleasure?_

_Oh, it’s uhh…it’s Spencer? From the banquet last Saturday?_

_Bow tie! Yeah of course I know who you are, how did you get my number?_

_Y-your dad…your dad gave it to me_

_He didn’t scare you too much, did he? He can be a little overprotective sometimes -_

_No, no! He didn’t, um…he didn’t scare me!_

_Are you sure? Because you don’t sound very sure…_

_W-well, maybe he scared me a little…but it’s okay, I promise! It was just that, you know, that ‘if you hurt her…’ type of thing and I-I have no intentions of hurting you, so I really don’t think I have anything to worry about - I…I’m rambling, aren’t I?_

_A little, yes - I like it though, it’s cute!_

_Oh…a-anyway, I guess I just wanted to see if…i-if you wanted to go out sometime? With, um, with me?_

_Are you asking me out on a date, Dr. Reid?_

_Um! Y-yeah, I was - but obviously you can say no if you want to, I mean I totally understand if you don’t want to go out on a date with me -_

_I’d love to!_


	52. spencer always fixes reader's kevlar vest

“Sending the address to your phones…now!” Garcia’s voice echoes through the laptop speakers - as soon as she’s done talking, the conference room is flurry of movement. There’s the rustling of papers as JJ flips through the case files one last time and the sound of wheels against carpet as half-a-dozen agents leap to their feet. Hotch is barking out orders as everyone hurries out the door, picking up car keys and kevlar vests and gun holsters along the way.

You jump into one of the SUVs behind Spencer - Morgan is at the wheel with Emily to his left, and he starts the car the second the door closes behind you. Spencer pulls out a map and starts rattling off directions as Morgan pulls out onto the road and Emily passes a pair of earpieces back to you and Spencer - it’s practically second nature to start putting it in as soon as you have it in your hands, and it only takes you a few seconds to get your comm up and running.

The next thing you know you’re getting out of the car and strapping on your vest, your hands moving swiftly through the familiar motions - you slip your arms through the holes and start with the velcro, pulling the straps so that the vest is snug around your chest, but not so tight that it restricts your movement. 

Spencer appears beside you - he’s going over the profile one last time, trying to make sure everyone’s on the same page before the inevitable takedown. And then he’s pulling at the straps of your vest as he continues to talk, he’s running his hands down the sides and checking for gaps almost as if he doesn’t realize he’s doing it. It makes you smile despite the situation - you’re not sure exactly when Spencer started checking your kevlar like this, but it’s become a habit of his (and you’re definitely not complaining at all).

But there’s no time to talk about it now - there’s an unsub inside this house who may or may not have already taken a fourth victim. You and Spencer both unholster your weapons and join the rest of your teammates in approaching the house, nodding when Hotch gestures for the two of you to circle around back. You ready yourselves by the back door, listening closely to your earpieces for any updates. 

You hear noises from within the house, the sounds of objects falling from their places and the clattering of footsteps coming closer and closer and closer. Spencer shoots you a knowing glance and you nod, catching his deep breath and nervous swallow out of the corner of your eye He broadens his stance and digs his heels into the ground - you do the same, aiming your gun at eye level and focusing on the door in front of you, your heart thundering in your ears as the cacophony of noise grows louder and louder until -

The unsub comes barreling through the door and runs directly into Spencer - the both go down in a heap of disorientation and flailing limbs. You level your gun at the unsub and bark out, “FBI! Don’t. Move.” just as Hotch and Emily make it through the door, but the unsub doesn’t stop struggling. You share a tense glance with the others - the unsub knows just as well as you do that none of you can risk taking the shot and hitting your teammate.

The unsub - a few inches taller than Spencer and at least twice as broad - manages to pin Spencer down, then turns to look at you with a self-satisfied smirk. “You’re not gonna shoot me,” he leers, “Not unless you wanna risk hitting the beanp-”

There’s a sharp, “Oof!” as Spencer pistol-whips the guy, his chest heaving as he scrambles to his feet and points his revolver at the unsub, who’s now laying stunned on the ground. 

Hotch rushes in and manhandles the unsub to his feet, yanking his arms behind his back and cuffing him while he reads him his rights. Spencer’s still standing in shock, holding his breath with his gun pointed towards the now-empty ground - you go to him and gently place your hand over his, pressing down ever so slightly until he lowers it on his own with a shaky exhale.

He holsters his gun with unsteady hands, shaking his head as he tries to chase away the lingering fear running through him. You run your hands up and down his chest, feeling for gaps in the kevlar and pulling the straps taught even though he doesn’t really need the vest anymore. He huffs out a soft chuckle after a minute or two, leaning into you as he whispers, “Thank you.”

“Yeah well,” you reply, “I’ve gotta make sure you’re safe too.”

He closes his eyes and nods, his lips pulling up at the corners just slightly. You bring a hand up to brush over his cheek, thumbing over the stubble and smiling when he nestles into the warmth of your palm. “It’s okay if you were scared, you know,” you whisper, “I was too.”

He hums and nods, clearing his throat after a second and mumbling, “I know, I know. It’s just…what would’ve happened if he’d disarmed me? What if he’d gotten my gun and shot Hotch or Emily or…or _you_ -”

“Shhhh,” you reply, pulling his vest a little tighter because you know he likes the pressure, “I’m alright, Spencer - we’re _both_ alright.”

And then he pulls you into a hug, wrapping his arms around you and tucking his face into the crook of your neck as he sways ever so slightly back and forth. You run your hands up and down his back, drawing circles and feeling the vibration of your nails against the kevlar. He sighs into you and traces over the straps of your vest - and maybe kevlar can’t protect you from everything, but standing here with Spencer in your arms it feels like it’s enough for now.


	53. reader's been having nightmares

It’s long past midnight when Spencer joins you at the kitchen table, coming up behind you and massaging your shoulders in his big hands. The sudden contact doesn’t startle you - you heard him walk over from the living room. Instead, you look up at him through tired eyes, tilting your head in a silent _what’s up?_ as he yawns above you.

Spencer disappears for a moment and you almost find yourself whimpering, seeking out his body heat as he walks off to some unknown location. He fumbles around in the kitchen for a short while but returns soon enough, pulling up a chair next to you and pressing a hot mug into your palms. You curl your hands around it instinctively, closing your eyes as the steam rolls over your cheeks - it smells warm, like the perfect mixture of honey and ginger.

Spencer leans in and kisses your cheek, running his hands up and down your arms and humming a soft, off-key melody. You press your forehead to his and suck in a breath, letting him wrap his arms around you as you fall into his chest. 

“You’re still awake,” he whispers, “What’s wrong?”

You let your eyes flutter open and then glance away, worrying your hands over the mug and taking a slow sip to buy time. “You’re still awake too,” you mumble, turning away from him a little.

He just sighs and pulls you closer, rubbing circles into your back with one hand and placing the other over your own. “I had some work to finish,” he admits, “But it could have waited until tomorrow. To be honest, I was waiting for you.”

You bite your lip and then raise the mug once again, almost hiding behind it as you blow away the steam. You take another sip and savor the taste this time, thinking about how Spencer made it just right. You heave out a breath and lean back into Spencer’s chest, feeling your body instinctively melt into his as he brushes a finger over your neck. “I just…,” you whisper, trailing off as you try to collect your thoughts, “I’ve just been having trouble sleeping lately, I guess.”

Spencer hums, “Mmm,” as he pulls you closer into himself, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head and threading his long fingers through your hair. He doesn’t say anything else just yet - he doesn’t need to. The both of you know that’s not the whole story, but he’d rather soothe you and let you take your time than push you too far have you close up.

You find yourself gripping the mug, simultaneously curling into him and turning away as you sigh. “I -,” you start, trying to collect the waver in your voice, “I’ve been having some…nightmares lately. For the past few weeks”

Spencer tightens his arms around you - he’s no stranger to nightmares either. “(y/n)…,” he mumbles, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

You open your mouth to speak before realizing that you don’t know, that you’re not entirely sure why you didn’t tell him. “I-I guess I,” you stutter, “I didn’t want you to worry? Which I guess is stupid because you’re worrying now anyway -”

“It’s not stupid,” he interrupts, a sad smile gracing his lips.

You take a deep breath and mumble, “Okay,” tucking your face into the crook of his neck before you continue. “It started after that case you had a few weeks ago - the one where you almost got shot? And I don’t know why because you’ve gotten hurt on cases before and I worry, of course I do, but I’m usually fine. I just…I don’t know. I keep dreaming about you g-getting hurt.”

And then you collapse into him, letting him take the mug from your hands and then gripping onto his shirt, sobbing as he holds you tight and whispers, “Shh, shhh it’s alright. I’m alright,” into your neck. 

He holds you like that until you calm down, rocking you back and forth at the kitchen table and mumbling sweet nothings into your ears. Once your breathing settles and your tears subside, he gently tugs you to your feet and leads you to bed, reassuring you every time he feels you tense along the way. He pulls back the covers and waits for you to climb in, rubbing your back as he tucks you in.

You miss him for the thirty seconds it takes him to hurry around to the other side and join you. And then he’s beside you once again, pulling you towards him and letting his breath mingle with yours. You had forgotten for a second, but now you’re nervous again - nervous about falling asleep, nervous that you’ll dream about losing him. 

Spencer turns your face towards him, mumbling, “I’m right here, I’m safe - _we’re both safe_ ,” as he presses his lips to your jaw. 

You shift against him, your breath a little shaky in your chest as you let your head fall to the pillow and whisper, “Read to me.”

And you close your eyes as he begins to speak, his voice soft and low as he recites, _“Whose woods these are I think I know. His house is in the village though; he will not see me stopping here to watch his woods fill up with snow*…”_

…

*from _Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening_ by Robert Frost


	54. season one spencer introduces his s/o to the team

“I-I…,” Spencer stutters, looking down at his hands and worrying at his lip, “I, um…I wanted to ask if -”

He cuts himself off with a nervous sigh, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath in and out before turning to face you and opening them again. A crease forms between his brows as he bites his lip and looks at you, squirming a little on the couch as he tries to get the words out. You just smile and wait patiently for him to collect himself, tilting your head to the side a little and reaching over to take his hands in yours.

He blinks at you for a moment more before squeezing back, a soft blush painting his cheeks as he peers over at you. “I-I, um…,” he tries a second time, stumbling over the words, “W-would you maybe….um, s-so my team is going out for drinks tomorrow and I was wondering if you wanted to come…?”

He’s speaking so fast that it takes you a moment to process the words, but once you do you can’t help but smile. “Of course I’ll go with you,” you giggle, “I’m looking forward to it.”

“R-really?” he stutters. 

“Yes really, silly,” you laugh, thumbing over the backs of his hands to try and ease away the nervous tension, “Why wouldn’t I want to meet your friends?”

“W-well, it’s just…,” he averts his eyes, “I talk about them all the time, but you’ve never really…asked to meet them?”

It comes out like a question, as if he’d just assumed that you wouldn’t be interested in meeting his team. In the nearly-eight months that you’ve been together, you’ve learned that Spencer is used to people’s disinterest, that he has a tendency to assume that others think he’s too much to deal with. And you wish you could go back in time and fix the years and years of absentee fathers and bullies and casual dismissal, but that’s impossible. All you can do now is reassure him that all those people were wrong, that you love him. That you’re interested in each and every part of him, the good _and_ the bad.

So you gather him up in your arms and pull him to your chest, tucking his face into the crook of your neck and drawing circles over his back. “Oh Spencer,” you whisper, “I love you - of course I want to meet your friends. I didn’t say anything because I know you’re nervous about it and I didn’t want to pressure you, that’s all. I’m happy to go with you tomorrow, I’m really excited to meet them, do you understand?”

It takes him a moment but he nods, humming, “MmHm,” and pressing his lips into your neck. You kiss the crown of his head, running your fingers through his hair and massaging his scalp in the way you know he likes. 

As he closes his eyes and relaxes against you, you imagine what tomorrow will be like. You think through the six people he’s told you so much about and wonder what they’ll be like in real life. 

…

The bar is a little crowded, but not overly so - it’s probably a little busier than someplace Spencer would have picked himself, but definitely not to an unbearable degree. That being said, Spencer is _very_ nervous as the two of you step through the doors. You can practically feel the tension in his shoulders and the crease between in his brow - his palm is a little sweaty under yours, and all you can do is give it a reassuring squeeze.

“Everything’s gonna be fine, Spencer. They’re gonna be happy for you, I just know it.”

“You couldn’t possibly know that for certain,” he frets, “There are so many things that could go wrong. What if they don’t like you? What if they think it’s weird that I’m dating someone? Oh god, what if _you_ don’t like _them?_ I hadn’t even thought of that, but -”

“Spencer, look at me,” you assert, maneuvering into his field of vision until he looks over at you with his pretty brown eyes, “Everything is going to be _just fine._ You’ve told me so much about all of them, and I’m so excited to meet them, alright?”

He looks away and worries at his bottom lip for a second before nodding, whispering, “A-alright,” over the noise of the bar.

You give his hand another squeeze. “Okay,” you smile, “We can go find them whenever you’re ready, there’s no rush.”

“Okay,” he repeats, closing his eyes and sucking in a deep breath before letting it back out again, “Everything’s gonna be fine. Okay.”

He takes one more breath before blinking his eyes back open, searching through the crowd until he finds what he’s looking for. Anxiety flashes over his face again, but you tighten your grip on his hand until it fades away again. His lips twitch upwards into a tiny smile, and he glances over to you for a second before turning back to the crowd, nodding his head in that direction and mumbling, “Over there.”

You follow his gaze and land on a blonde woman dressed in bright attire, chatting enthusiastically to the dark-haired woman in front of her. Spencer remains frozen beside you, so you give him a nudge and a reassuring smile - he purses his lips and holds his breath for a second before letting it go, determination flooding his features as he guides you in their direction.

Spencer stumbles to a halt in front of the table, using his free hand to nervously play with the hem of his shirt. The dark-haired woman spots you two first - confusion flashes over her face for a second before a knowing grin over takes her expression. 

“What?” the blonde woman asks her, “What are you looking at?”

She turns around, following the other woman’s line of sight until her eyes land on you. She blinks at you for a second, looking between you and Spencer with growing surprise. You giggle and give her a wave, “Hi!”

It jolts her out of her stupor and she springs to her feet, exclaiming, “Ohmygosh! Are you…? Ohmygosh, you _are!_ Ohhh - I knew it!”

“W-what!?” Spencer stutters, his face flushed red with embarrassment, “Y-you….you knew? But…but I -”

“Oh, Boy Genius you’ve just had that…that _glow_ of somebody who’s a little lovesick, you know?” she grins, “None of us knew for sure, of course, but well….we all suspected.”

Spencer just gapes at that, opening and closing his mouth as his face gets impossibly redder. And just when he’s starting to collect himself, someone comes up behind him and claps him on the shoulder, exclaiming, “My man!”

“Ah!” Spencer yelps, whirling around to face the new arrival, “Morgan! You scared me!”

Morgan just chuckles and wiggles his eyebrows, giving Spencer a sly grin. “Well?” he asks, “Aren’t you going to introduce us?”

And then Spencer’s a stuttering mess again, blushing as he stumbles through introducing you. You squeeze his hand every time he gets flustered, helping him answer all their questions - the _How did you meet?_ and _How long have you been together?_ and _You didn’t think you could keep this from us forever, did you?_

The initial excitement dies down after a while and the group falls into comfortable chatter, talking over drinks as if you’d been a part of it all along. You lean over to Spencer during a lull in the conversation, thumbing over his palm as you say, “See? I told you,” with a smile.

He pouts and playfully turns away for a second before looking back at you. He leans his head against yours, letting his eyes flutter closed and mumbling a soft, “I love you,” into the skin of your cheek.

An “Aweeee!” from across the table interrupts the moment, but then Spencer looks back at you with one of the biggest smiles you’ve ever seen on him and it doesn’t feel like an interruption at all.


	55. spencer warms reader's hands

You’ve always had hands that are a little extra susceptible to the cold. It’s not something that really crosses your mind very frequently, except maybe for in the winter when even gloves sometimes aren’t enough to keep them warm. 

But that isn’t the case right now - right now, you’re on the plane on the way back from a case, debating the merits of coffee versus tea (or rather, listening to Spencer animatedly talk about _how coffee is obviously better!_ from the seat next to you). The cabin is a little chilly from the AC, but it’s not really anything particularly noticeable - it’s enough to make you subconsciously start rubbing your hands together for warmth, but not enough to make you remark about the cold. 

All of the sudden, you feel Spencer’s hands wrapping around yours - his palms are hot against your cold skin, his fingers long and delicate. You look over at him in confusion as he continues on with the conversation as if nothing is happening at all, completely oblivious to the raised brows and questioning glances being sent in his direction as he rambles on.

“ _Actually_ ,” he says as he draws circles over your palm, “Due to the placebo effect, some studies have found that it’s unclear whether coffee results in more alert subjects as opposed to a tea in comparable volumes, despite the fact that a typical cup of coffee contains twice as much caffeine as the same amount of tea. That being said, the study I was reading didn’t consider…”

He’s so caught up in his info-dump that he doesn’t realize that everyone is staring at the two of you, and instead takes the silence as an invitation to continue on. But as much as you love listening to Spencer talk about the things he loves, you’re getting a little embarrassed from all the attention and pointed eyebrow wiggles - as soon as he pauses to catch his breath, you interrupt his ramble with a squeeze of the hand and a soft, “Spencer?”

He’s so adorably unaware of what’s going on around him that it’s almost comical - he turns to you with owlish eyes, blinking innocently and tilting his head to the side as he questions, “Hmm?”

You chuckle nervously as a blush creeps up your cheeks, letting your eyes flicker back and forth between him and the other members of the team (who are all stifling laughter at this point). He furrows his brow and follows your line of sight around the cabin. It’s almost like something out of a cartoon when he finally realizes that everyone is staring at the two of you - he yelps and jolts in his seat, his cheeks going red and his knees thumping upwards against the table.

He lets out a soft, “oof!” and winces, drawing his arms closer to his chest (and tightening his grip on your hands as he does it). He squirms in the face of so much attention, tangling his fingers with yours as he stutters, “U-uh, hi? Is something…wrong?”

“Um, no,” JJ masks her laughter with a cough, “Nothing’s wrong. It’s just that uhh…”

And then she trails off, biting back a grin as she lets her gaze drop down to your linked hands and gestures in your general direction. Spencer, oblivious as he is, doesn’t even realize at first - he just gives her a strange look and reassures himself by squeezing your hands. He even sends a smile in your direction as he does it.

You smile back at him and so he (satisfied that whatever _mysterious issue_ he’s missing has been resolved) turns back to face the table and opens his mouth to resume his ramble, mildly annoyed over the interruption. “As I was _saying_ ,” he continues as everyone else looks on with barely-suppressed grins, “It’s difficult to perform a quantitative study in that regard because the feeling of ‘alertness’ is so subjective. And, given that caffeine consumption is so common - upwards of 90% of Americans use it on a regular basis - there are tons of other factors in play that make it very difficult to -”

The exact moment he realizes that something is off is abundantly obvious - he freezes mid-sentence and blinks rapidly a few times. Then, he snaps his mouth shut and squints, running his long fingers over your hands as if he’s trying to figure out what he’s suddenly holding. When it finally ( _finally!_ ) hits him he whirls around to face you, his lips pulling outwards into a straight line as his eyes grow wider and wider and wider -

(And yet, it never even occurs to him to let go of your hands)

You just smile at him and tilt your head, letting him know that you’re a little confused, though not at all opposed to the unexpected hand-holding. Spencer’s face goes bright red and he opens and closes his mouth a few times before finally stuttering, “I-I just, uhhh…w-well it’s just that um…y-you looked like your hands were cold? I-I’m sorry, I must be making you uncomfortable, I shouldn’t have done that without asking, I don’t know what came over me -”

“Spencer,” you speak softly, drawing circles over his palms, “It’s okay, I don’t mind. You can warm up my hands whenever you want to.”

He looks at you in awe, a dopey grin pulling at his lips as he twists his fingers through yours in excitement. And then, in the most Spencer-like way possible, he takes a deep breath and promptly jumps right back into his info-dump, barely even missing a beat as he says, 

“…that make it very difficult to come up with a standard basis of comparison. To really be _quantitative_ , such a study would need to come up with a way to define ‘alertness,’ and take into account factors such as daily caffeine consumption, age, caffeine tolerance considering both the effects of genetics and long-term caffeine use…and even then, how would you go about accounting for the placebo effect? You could have subjects consume decaf coffee or herbal tea, but given the prevalence of such beverages it’s highly likely that a large proportion of the subjects would be able to taste the difference and therefore…”

(Out of the corner of your eye you can see Morgan’s sly grin, his mouth opening as he gets ready to make some teasing comment -

You cut him off with a swift glare and shake of the head. Spencer’s already been embarrassed enough as it is - and besides, you’re really enjoying the warmth of his hands as he rambles)


End file.
